Ashes
by Stelmarta
Summary: Original fic, original characters, in extreme abbreviation, this is the story of a shapeshifter, revenge, a cult, destiny, and some deities. **COMPLETE AT LONG LAST**
1. The Dragon

Ashes, by Stelmarta  
  
I hope you enjoy, this, I know I do. *Please* review, it really makes a difference.  
  
Next chapter will be up soon.  
  
PART I - The Dragon  
  
Laesha shuddered violently, the cold and damp of the morning seeping into her bones. She curled up tighter, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. The barn was not meant for chilly mornings like this one.  
  
She herself wondered why she was in there, but she needed only to look at her hands to remember. Laesha's arms from her fingertips to her elbow were covered in hard, black dragon scales, cold to the touch. Her nails had become long sharp talons, and black spines poked out from her wrists. Hardly her average appearance. Usually she was short for her sixteen years, with shoulder-length unruly black hair framing a deceptively cute face with large expressive eyes and a snubbed nose. But that seemed to be less consistent for her than for most others.  
  
This wasn't the first time she had changed, Laesha's eyes were never the same color twice, and she'd woken up with scales or feathers growing in around her face many times. But that kind were easy to hide or explain away, and vanished in the course of hours. But recently the changes had become more drastic, harder to hide, longer to disappear. She had hidden in the barn many times in the last several weeks.  
  
Laesha looked at her legs, they too were covered with the same black scales that her arms were.  
  
"Damn," she whispered.  
  
An hour ago it was just her arms, by the end of the day, she'd be a dragon from head to toe.  
  
She looked at her hands again, the scales showed no signs of fading, in fact, they were becoming thicker and spreading up her arms. She let out a long sigh; it looked as though she'd be spending the rest of the day in the cold, dark barn.  
  
The door slammed open, banging against the wall, cold light filling every corner, a plump female figure silhouetted in the doorway. Laesha instinctively shrunk back, covering her eyes.  
  
"Laesha? There you are, you lazy twit," Zsana had found her, the most feather-headed girl in the village had discovered her hiding spot.  
  
Life was so unfair.  
  
"Horsa sent me to get you.." She trailed off, actually seeing the other girl. Zsana gaped like a fish and made little strangled-sounding noises at the back of her throat.  
  
Laesha stood up, her yellow eyes glinting threateningly. The twit squeaked in terror and ran frantically from the barn screaming bloody murder.  
  
People streamed out of their houses into the muddy street at Zsana's shouts. Horsa was trying to get some sense out of her with little success.  
  
Laesha looked around desperately for a hiding place, her reptilian eyes settling on some old crates stacked up in a corner. She dove behind them just a Zsana ran back in followed by a number of villagers.  
  
"There she is! There she is! Behind those boxes!" she screeched.  
  
Laesha yanked her fully visible foot back into shadow, swearing loudly. Before she could stand up, she was pulled up by several pairs of strong arms and dragged into the light.  
  
Laesha struggled against her captors, the blacksmith and his son, and tried to bring her claws in contact with them, but they held her too tightly. They dragged her outside, a crowd awaiting them. She was brought to the center of town, where the priest was already waiting, and thrown to the ground at his feet.  
  
He took one look at her and immediately made the sign against evil, the villagers following suit.  
  
"This creature is a demon," pronounced the priest, grabbing Laesha by her hair, and pulling up her face so the village could see, "we cannot allow this foul spirit in our midst, to devour our children and our livestock, to seduce our community's children to evil. The purifying fire of Din is the only thing that will rid us of this demon. That is my judgment!"  
  
~*~  
  
Laesha slumped back against the dry wood that was the wall of the fire lodge, the ceremonial hut where demons were burned. The lodge was small and dark, made of well-seasoned wood so that it would burn better. She let out a long shuddering sigh, a forked tongue flicking from her mouth. She let out a small shriek and clamped her hands over her mouth.  
  
She felt like she was crying, but no tears escaped her eyes. She felt her face. It was covered in scales. She blinked in astonishment, feeling the double lid of a dragon's eye for the first time. If she had tears, she would have wept.  
  
Laesha pulled a pendant attached to a long chain out from under her shirt, cradling it in her hands. The soft pink stone flicked weakly from deep within. She turned it over, the crack running down the gem facing her. She put the pendant back under her shirt and closed her reptilian eyes.  
  
Laesha woke up several hours later, something digging into her back. She turned around. Nothing was there. A terrible thought struck her, and she carefully felt her back with her scaly hand. Hard spines were poking out, running along her spine, from between her shoulder blades down to..a tail, a whiplike tail with a barbed end.  
  
This was too much.  
  
She screamed in horror and fear, her inhuman voice filling the fire lodge and pushing out, spreading through out the village.  
  
Somewhere, Zsana cringed.  
  
Laesha stopped, desperation taking the place of panic, and surveyed her hands, the claws looked more than strong enough to rip through the dry wood.  
  
A scent entered her nostrils.  
  
Smoke.  
  
They had set the lodge on fire.  
  
"May the gods protect our village," said the priest, his voice muffled by the wood and the thick, black smoke.  
  
Small flames flickered up around the bottoms of the walls. Cold fear stabbed through Laesha, paralyzing her.  
  
Within moments, the fire lodge was completely consumed by flames.  
  
~*~  
  
Inside, Laesha felt surprisingly calm. The fire didn't hurt at all, it was all around her, she could smell it, and it touched her, but it didn't burn. The fire had eaten her clothing, but she didn't care about that either, those hard black scales were as good and better than clothing. The only thing she was wearing was her pendant, which was humming very slightly.  
  
The timbers above her cracked loudly. Laesha's mind snapped abruptly from its daze and into action. She ran straight through the flaming wall, splinters of wood deflected harmlessly off her scales. The shack collapsed on itself behind her, a burning heap of ashes.  
  
She ran out into the night, her black body a shadow slipping unnoticed from the funeral pyre meant for her. She fell to her knees, utterly exhausted, contemplating whether to fall asleep right then and there. Her common sense won out, and she picked herself up, and went off.  
  
She had to run away, there was no way on Gaea that she would stay here, they would just keep trying to kill her until they eventually succeeded. She briefly wondered where she would go, but decided to think about that after she had made it out of the village.  
  
The first thing she would get was clothing. Even if she didn't need as a dragon, it would be handy if she ever changed back. She silently entered a cottage on the edge of town. As luck would have it, it was Zsana's.  
  
She crept into the twit's room and took some clothing from the trunk at the foot of her bed. She grabbed a black skirt, and a sleeveless tunic. She picked up a pair of low boots from where they had been deposited near the door, as well as a heavy blanket and some food.  
  
Laesha was about to leave when an irresistibly wicked thought struck her. She went back into Zsana's room and carved the word "REVENGE" on the wall with her claws.  
  
Laesha swung the blanket that she had fashioned into a crude bag over her shoulder, and set out for Graemoon forest.  
  
She suppressed the urge to snigger on the way out. 


	2. The Forest

PART II - The Forest  
  
Graemoon was an old forest, its history stretching back before myth itself could catalog its existence. It was full of huge trees whose leaves formed a canopy so thick, only a thin gray light filtered in. The forest was notorious among the people of the surrounding villages for being the home of ghouls and demons, and that's why it was forbidden.  
  
Laesha woke with a start, her eyes opening to several dozen cruel looking faces and a sword pointed to her neck. She had fallen asleep at the foot of a tree, and in hindsight it hadn't been such a good idea.  
  
"What's a little girl like you doing in Graemoon without an escort?" sneered the owner of the sword. He looked about seventeen years old, but was obviously in charge. He had pale skin, like porcelain, long red hair pushed back from his face by a black diadem, and gray eyes that looked as compassionate as slate.  
  
She felt her face. The scales were gone. She was normal.  
  
Damn.  
  
"The monsters might get you," he continued, getting some sinister chuckles from the thugs behind him.  
  
"Yeah, good thing you girls found me before the monsters did," she returned acidly, her ice-blue ices flashing. At the moment, her only weapons were her wits, hardly sufficient, but hey, if she was going to die, she might as well piss him off first.  
  
A muscle near his eyes twitched but his expression was stony, "Do you know," he began silkily, fury under a porcelain mask, "who I am?"  
  
"No. Should I?"  
  
She had assumed, since he was obviously very full of himself, that that comment would have irritated him, but he just smiled, an expression not at all comforting on him.  
  
"I am Cayn Eversra, and this," he gestured broadly to the men behind him, "is the Order of Dust,"  
  
All the blood drained out of her face, and any hope of survival left with it.  
  
He chuckled a malicious, sadistic laugh, like his smile, "So you have heard of me. How nice to know I have an adoring public," he moved the sword from her throat, and gestured to his men to tie her up.  
  
Laesha was screwed. The Order was a violent cult that worshipped Dust, the god of death. They had been known to raze entire villages to the ground in the name of their god.  
  
She didn't struggle; she was too stunned to move. They bound her hands behind her back and jerked her to her feet.  
  
As she was harried forward deeper into the forest, her shock was gradually replaced by impotent fury. If she had her claws she would have ripped his lily-white face apart, but as it were, she couldn't do anything at all.  
  
~*~  
  
Laesha stumbled on a rotting log; her balance thrown without her hands, and fell on her knees, unable to get up. The Order was on horseback, but she had been walking all day through Graemoon over the uneven and dimly lit terrain. She was at the end of her tether, she hadn't eaten all day, and her captors hadn't made any efforts to be gentle or kind. Her legs just wouldn't move anymore. She remained on the ground, panting.  
  
Cayn dismounted and strode up to her quickly, his porcelain face twisted into a mask of fury. He grabbed her by the throat and pulled her to her feet.  
  
Laesha noticed with blurred amusement that she was taller than him, and barely felt his hand on her neck. But she did feel it as it connected with her cheek as he backhanded her. The leather of his glove burned when it hit, leaving rough abrasions that began to bleed.  
  
She staggered but didn't fall, the blood on her face mixing with tears of pain, a red drop sliding down her cheek to finally drip off her chin.  
  
"If you do not keep up," he said, "I will rip out your entrails with my bare hands and watch as you are forced to eat them."  
  
"Why don't you keep the gloves on, I'm sure blood does lovely things to leather," Laesha returned with as much venom in her voice as she could manage with a swollen lip. Her eyes were a deep cornflower blue now that matched the sky.  
  
"Almost as lovely as what would happen to you," he said returning her venom fully. He turned sharply back, remounting his horse and starting off at a quick trot. No doubt an action meant to punish her. Not nice to the horse either, who already had to deal with the uneven forest floor without increased speed on top of it all.  
  
She held back a groan and began working her way forward, for she had no doubt that Cayn was not bluffing, and wouldn't give a damn if his clothes got bloody.  
  
~*~  
  
By the time they reached "camp" - a small, dirty clearing with the remains of a fire and partially assembled tents - the sun, which was just barely visible through the thick canopy, was setting, the two moons already high above the horizon.  
  
Laesha was thrown roughly against a rock, a cup of water placed beside her. She couldn't pick it up with her hands bound; another form of torture, she assumed. She was parched, but wouldn't let Cayn have the satisfaction of knowing that, so she leaned back against the rock and closed her eyes, feigning sleep.  
  
One of the Order, a young man with an open, innocent face, but with eyes as dead and cold as his leader's, seeing that she was asleep left her and joined his fellows in the center of the encampment.  
  
She cracked an eye open with difficultly, she was exhausted, and she felt as if her eyelids were made of lead. The Order was gathered in the center, kneeling on the ground, with Cayn facing them. About fifty all told, mostly male, but with a few women interspersed among the others, all in black and gray armor streaked with soot and old blood. Cayn was wearing the same, but with a simple red singlet on top.  
  
"Dust si ecaef leven!" Cayn shouted.  
  
"Dust si ecaef leven!" the Order repeated.  
  
Laesha watched for a moment, the routine remaining the same, Cayn would shout some nonsense words, and the Order would repeat him. She supposed it was some sort of worship, but at the moment, she was too tired to care. She let her eyelids drop.  
  
"Psst!"  
  
She opened her eyes with tired disappointment, because the sound had come from the bushes behind her.  
  
"Who's there?" she hissed back, sure that her captors were too busy to notice.  
  
"A friend." the bushes rustled, and a hand from an unknown source cut her bonds. Elation managed to cut through her fatigue and soar up. She rubbed her wrists, unable to keep from grinning like a maniac.  
  
"Just pretend that you're tied up for now. When you get my signal, run south, into that copse of trees over there."  
  
And with a final rustle of foliage, her rescuer was gone. She leant back against the rock and waited, watching the Order's ritual.  
  
It seemed to be coming to a climax now; Cayn had taken out a wicked looking knife and pressed it to his palm.  
  
His gloves were off.  
  
Laesha grinned.  
  
With a flash of steel, he had cut his hand, blood pouring from the wound into an obsidian bowl, the worshippers on the ground, chanting.  
  
"Os etom tieb!" Cayn yelled, holding up his wounded hand, the bowl full to the brim with his blood. As he held his palm up, the wound sealed up, muscle knitting itself together, skin forming anew, the wound now nothing more than a thin white line.  
  
At that moment an arrow shrieked out from nowhere and hit the obsidian bowl, knocking it over and turning the grass a muddy red.  
  
More arrows began raining down as the Order erupted into chaos. Some ran around screaming while others sat where they were, dazed and motionless. Cayn was livid.  
  
Laesha got up and ran south as fast as her weary limbs would carry her, no one noticing her at all. The copse was dark and quiet. She leant against a tree panting, exhausted from her sprint, a day of hiking through the woods with no food or water, and in general, a pretty crappy few days.  
  
Within minutes, her rescuer had run into the copse, bow still strung.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked. He looked to be about seventeen, tall and moderately muscular. He had a square face that was very tan. His hair fell to his shoulders and appeared to be dark green. His eyes were hazel flecked with gold.  
  
"Yes. Do you have any food?" Laesha's stomach growled, echoing her words.  
  
He gave her some jerked beef and an apple, along with a flask of water, which she devoured, her hunger getting the better of her table manners.  
  
"Thank you," she said through a mouthful of apple, "for saving me." she swallowed, "It was lucky that you happened on their camp."  
  
"Not really, I've been tracking the Order for months," he said, unstringing his bow, "I'm Owllhrmrhy of the Tori."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Just call me Owl."  
  
"Oh. I'm Laesha Kalenel, nice to meet you."  
  
"So, what were you doing in Graemoon without an escort?" Owl inquired after a short silence.  
  
"So, why are you following the Order of Dust?" retorted Laesha.  
  
He glared at her.  
  
"Oh, fine," she said, caving in under the considerable power of his gaze, "I ran away."  
  
"Oh, so you thought you'd run away into a dangerous forest with no food and no weapons," he said sardonically, "Real smart."  
  
"I had food when I left!"  
  
"But no weapons."  
  
I didn't need weapons when I left, she thought furiously. "Well, why are you following the Order!? Do you have a death wish!?"  
  
Owl didn't reply, just turned around and pulled a rough blanket from a pack.  
  
He tossed it to her, "It's time to turn in, and tomorrow morning I'll return you to your village."  
  
She briefly contemplated refusing to return, but she was so tired..  
  
She would argue in the morning. She rolled out the blanket at the foot of a tree and curled up. Several yards away, Owl had built a fire and was banking it, with the ease of someone used to sleeping in the woods.  
  
Just before she drifted to sleep, Laesha noticed that her fingernails had turned to claws again.  
  
Just in the nick of time, she thought grumpily. 


	3. The Cat and the Bird

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
Sorry for the wait, problems with my computer. The next chapter will be up shortly. Enjoy!  
  
*please review*  
  
  
  
PART III - The Cat and the Bird  
  
The next morning was cold and overcast, and Laesha woke up cramped and grumpy. She rubbed her eyes, yawned and looked at her hands, just to check that her claws from last night were gone. They were, but it seemed that whatever mischievous god watched over her had decided to give her a coat of ginger-colored fur in compensation for the cold.  
  
"I love my life," she muttered sarcastically, closed her eyes again and leant back  
  
on her improvised bed. She could hear Owl moving around in the camp (gods he was up early!), and various wildlife sounds as well. A squirrel ran up the tree behind her, its little claws scrabbling up the bark loudly.  
  
Too loudly.  
  
Laesha reached up and felt her ears. They were much larger than they used to be, furry, and pointed. Great.  
  
Then she experimentally flexed her fingers, and retractable claws un- sheathed themselves with a snap. She had a tail, too. She had thought she was lying on a tree root.  
  
Great, she grumbled mentally, first I was an undersized dragon, now I'm a cat-person.  
  
Laesha rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, hoping that by the time she woke up, she'd be back to normal.  
  
But it was not to be.  
  
"Laesha if you want breakfast, you'll have to get up." called Owl.  
  
She mentally weighed her options. She had eaten practically nothing over the last two days, but if she got up looking like she did..  
  
Her problem was solved by Owl whipping off her blankets.  
  
"You've slept in enough.." He trailed off as her saw her and took a step back, "Doppelganger," he breathed.  
  
Laesha stood up, furry and furious, "Do I smell like a Doppelganger to you? And if I were, do you think I would change in front of you?"  
  
Owl shook his head after a moment's consideration looking dazed and confused, "So, what are you?"  
  
She glared at him, "Human, unless I've been lied to," she looked at herself, "Well, I guess I'm a cat-person now, but usually I'm human. So, what color are my eyes today?" she asked out of curiosity, leaning casually on the tree behind her.  
  
"Um, pale green with slit pupils. Weren't they blue yesterday?"  
  
"I'm flattered you noticed," Owl blushed slightly, "My eyes are never the same color twice" she said confidently.  
  
"You seem extremely nonchalant about all this." Owl observed.  
  
"Would you prefer hysterics?"  
  
"Good point."  
  
"This," continued Laesha, fingering a large, furry ear, "is why I was alone in Graemoon. I changed almost completely into a dragon the other day, and the villagers tried the 'purge the community of evil' by burning me alive. Lucky for me, dragons are fireproof," Laesha gave him a toothy grin.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Don't worry, I'll probably be back to normal by this afternoon. Now how about breakfast?"  
  
~*~  
  
By the time Laesha was done with her rather large breakfast, she was looking much less feline; her ears had shrunk considerably and her fur was beginning to thin out.  
  
"Where'd you get that pendant?" asked Owl, feeling as if he should at least try to make conversation.  
  
"Huh?" Laesha stopped picking her teeth, "Oh, this," it had slipped out from underneath her shirt. She pulled it off her neck, "I've had it as long as I can remember. I'm a foundling; one cold winter morning I was found in a barn, only a few months old, with this necklace as the only clue to my heritage." she grinned, "Beat that. If you can."  
  
He glared at her.  
  
"Oh, come on, everyone has a story to tell."  
  
"Well I don't."  
  
Laesha doubted this, but was willing to let it drop - for now.  
  
"That's a rather far-fetched story," he said.  
  
"Why would I lie? And you can tell me if this pendant is proof or not." she tossed the necklace at Owl. For a moment she regretted not chucking it at his head  
  
"I've never seen anything like it before," he said after examining the stone for a moment. "Has it always been cracked?"  
  
"Yeah,"  
  
"This isn't proof, you know," he tossed the necklace  
  
She shrugged, "I would bring you to the village, they'd back me up, but they'd probably try to kill me again. Anyway, it doesn't matter if you believe my story or not." She gave Owl an acidic look, which he ignored.  
  
~*~  
  
An hour or so later, Owl and Laesha were creeping through the woods, or rather, Owl was creeping and Laesha was crashing. She was back to normal; not a spot of fur remained, she was tail-less, her ears were small and useless again, and her eyes were violet.  
  
They were very close to the Temple of Dust, the stronghold of the Order, only a few hundred yards away from the sentries. The Temple was huge, a step pyramid of obsidian and shards of mirror rising out of the forest suddenly, a monument to death. The clearing in which it stood was devoid of trees, a sight rarely seen in Graemoon.  
  
Torches lit by strange gray fire stood at the main entrance, which had two mean-looking sentries standing watch.  
  
"Bloodthirsty fanatics," Owl growled under his breath, "Cayn has them believing he's Dust himself."  
  
Laesha was about to respond when there was an explosion from the inner temple, thick black smoke billowing from a hole from somewhere out of view.  
  
Guards and acolytes began running around frantically calling to each other. A claxon sounded, filling the forest with an earsplitting whine that made whatever wildlife there was left run for its life. Owl and Laesha just stared, agape with shock.  
  
Someone grabbed Laesha by the shirt collar and pulled her to her feet.  
  
Pointing a sword at Owl he said, "Spies, I bet. Helping that blasted-"  
  
He didn't finish his sentence, since Laesha had elbowed him in the throat. She ran as fast as she could away from the temple and didn't look back.  
  
She ran and ran until the claxon became indistinct and muted and she could run no further. There was a ravine in front of her and a terrible stitch in her side.  
  
Laesha doubled up, panting and trying to ignore the shooting pain.  
  
Owl came jogging up. He was just as sooty and winded as she was. He leant against a tree that hung over the ravine, panting. The tree cracked, complaining at his weight.  
  
"That was close," he said breathlessly.  
  
"Yeah," she wheezed, "I wonder what set off the explosion."  
  
He shrugged, straightened up, then swayed a bit and leant back on the tree.  
  
With a final, shuddering crack, its roots lost their hold on the earth and plummeted down, taking Owl with it.  
  
"Owl!" Laesha ran to the cliff stretching out her hand in a futile gesture of hope, unable to do anything else.  
  
But he was gone; no one could survive falling off a cliff. She sat back, too shocked even for tears. She couldn't comprehend it. It had happened so quickly.  
  
The dust settled down, and soon it was as if nothing had occurred.  
  
A feather floated into view. It had floated up from the ravine, apparently borne by a convenient updraft. Laesha was too preoccupied to notice.  
  
There was another, and another. They filled the air, dancing in the wind. Following them was their source, a pair of wings. Attached to Owl.  
  
They flapped, making no sound, and carrying him up several meters. Laesha gaped. She had heard of Draconians, but their wings were white. His were tawny brown, and utterly silent.  
  
He landed softly on the ground, the wings melting away as if they had never been there.  
  
He gave her solemn look, "I guess I had a story after all." 


	4. The Feather

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
Note - this chapter *immediately* follows the last one, it's meant to overlap a bit, too.  
  
It may be a while until the next installment, so just be patient.  
  
*please review*  
  
  
  
PART IV - The Feather  
  
He gave her solemn look, "I guess I had a story after all."  
  
Laesha had no response to that. One of his feathers drifted down and landed in her hands. It was soft and warm. She closed her eyes, in the hope that somehow answers would come to her.  
  
The air grew warmer. She didn't notice until she could almost feel fire licking at her skin.  
  
Laesha opened her eyes and looked up. She was in a burning village, people screaming and running from the flames. She could hear the sounds of a child trapped in one of the longhouses, crying for her mother, who lay by the door under a heavy beam, dead. One woman sprouted dark brown wings, trying to escape, but was consumed by the flames.  
  
Laesha stood there in horror, desperately wishing to flee the carnage, but frozen in place.  
  
Just as she could stand it no longer, the vision was replaced by inky blackness with an almost audible snap. Silence.  
  
/ The Tori were wiped out a year ago by the Order of Dust / said a soft voice that echoed through Laesha's mind like a breeze through a field of wheat. / The Tori possessed the ability to summon wings at will, like the Draconian race, which they are distantly related to. /  
  
The voice sounded like it belonged to someone as old as eternity, yet younger than spring. / You are wondering who I am, / stated the voice with a musical giggle, /I am Farore, goddess of wisdom. / At that statement, the foggy outlines of a young girl with pale green eyes and hair materialized in front of Laesha.  
  
"I must be hallucinating," she muttered to herself.  
  
/ Don't be silly, child! / admonished the goddess with another giggle, / You did ask, you should be grateful I obliged. /  
  
The figure of the girl faded away at those last words. The darkness surrounding Laesha dissipated, leaving right where she was when Owl had fallen off the cliff.  
  
She felt like fainting, this was far too much for a simple country girl of sixteen. Her hands tightened on the feather that still rested in her hands.  
  
"Are you alright?" inquired an anxious-looking Owl.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"You just spent the last minute and a half staring fixedly at nothing."  
  
She jumped to her feet, "You should talk! You just fell off a cliff, then - then you sprouted feathers! Who the hell are you!?" Laesha was getting hysterical.  
  
He sighed, "Calm down. Remember? I introduced myself as Owllhrmrhy of the Tori," he explained, stressing 'the Tori'.  
  
She gave him a blank look. He looked slightly pained.  
  
"Okay, fine. The Tori are - were - an ancient race descended from the Atlanteans who could do the wing thing. Like Draconians. Only there were less of us and our wings had more variety. Okay?"  
  
Laesha nodded slowly, "But," she said cautiously, "Why do you keep referring to the Tori in the past tense?"  
  
She had hit something. At her question, Owl's face turned slightly gray, and he looked away from her.  
  
"They're dead," he croaked after a moment of silence, "The Order killed them a year ago. They attacked without warning and set fire to our village. I am the last."  
  
The vision of the winged woman consumed by flames swam into Laesha's view.  
  
"That's why I'm tracking Cayn down. To make him pay." He looked back at her, his hazel eyes filled with pain and grief.  
  
She didn't know what to say, "I'm sorry," she offered softly.  
  
Owl shook his head and walked over to his pack, which had somehow managed to tag along. His wings were completely gone. All that remained were two thin pink lines between his shoulder blades. He pulled out a fresh tunic, presumably because the last one had been torn to shreds.  
  
Laesha looked at the feather in her hands for a long time. The memory of the girl/goddess and what she had said kept invading her thoughts.  
  
Woe betides the man who attracts the attentions of the gods, she thought sardonically.  
  
She slipped the feather into a pocket in her skirt, and got up from where she had been sitting at the edge of the ravine.  
  
"Where to now?" she asked Owl with an optimism she didn't feel. 


	5. The Mirror

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
There's sort of a 180 in perspective here, just warning ya' ^_^  
  
Oh, and here's to Birkenstocks in the Snow, Barefoot the Crackwhore, Elf Lover, and Ice Eyes for being such faithful reviewers; this chapter is dedicated to them.  
  
The next chapter may be a bit, so just be patient, please.  
  
  
  
PART V – The Mirror  
  
"WHAT?!" roared Cayn, the sound of his voice echoing off the obsidian that formed the walls of his chamber. He was so furious that one could expect to receive first-degree burns by simply touching him.  
  
"She escaped, my lord, after managing to distract the guards and free the other prisoners," replied a tall wolf-woman, "The damage the explosion is easily fixed, and no one was killed." Unshaken by his anger, she stood at attention. She had a curious tear-shaped brand under one eye and was wearing the armor of the Order.  
  
"Dusinane, tell me who is responsible for this," ordered Cayn silkily.  
  
"We can retrieve her, my lord, we know where she'll go," she answered, neglecting to answer his actual question.  
  
"Fine. Take three others with you and bring her back before a fortnight passes," he commanded, icy once more.  
  
"Yes, my lord." said Dusinane as she bowed and withdrew from the room.  
  
As soon as she was out of sight, he roared and smashed his fist into a delicate ebony table, breaking it into splinters that whizzed across the room like enraged insects.  
  
He threw himself in a chair, a throne-like affair that was as uncomfortable as it looked. He sat there letting his anger run dry. Dusinane would bring her back; he had no doubt about that. She was by far the most competent of his lieutenants, despite the fact that she was a wolf- woman and Forsaken.  
  
The Forsaken were a curious group. They were people who had committed such sins that they did not consider themselves worthy of even pity. They shunned their old lives and started anew, the only thing they brought with them being their guilt. The mark of the Forsaken was rather curious as well; a teardrop under one eye. It could be a tattoo, or a brand, or carved into their face, or even paint. But usually it was acquired through a painful method, and always self-inflicted. The Forsaken were usually solemn, self-punishing, clinically depressed and nihilistic, so it was unusual to see any in company.  
  
One of Emperor Dornkirk's sorcerers had been a Forsaken. Cayn vaguely remembered seeing him in an audience once. He had seen many members of the Zaibach upper orders, having been one of the Emperor's wards. Dornkirk had "adopted" almost a dozen young orphans during his reign, giving them training, education and power. Several had gone on to become members of the Dragonslayers. Cayn had wanted little else but to join the Slayers since they were first formed. He had idolized Dilandau since the young commander was first presented to the Emperor. There was someone with the power of life and death in his hands, and with the skill to exploit it. But the war had ended, and Cayn was left adrift, his guardian murdered by a traitor, his home decimated, his hero dead.  
  
He had wandered east, far out beyond the Basram frontier, and found his purpose: death. A bloody resurrection of all that Dilandau and the Dragonslayers stood for.  
  
Cayn's lips curled into a smile at this; in many ways he had far exceeded Dilandau.  
  
But for that woman.  
  
He growled, anger returned, and grabbed a nearby shard of mirror, ready to hurl it against the wall. But he stopped, remembering something.  
  
He pulled off a glove and took out a dagger, slicing the tip of his finger and letting the blood drip onto the mirror. It flashed once, and went clear, the blood gone.  
  
"Show me Ashes. Show me the future," he whispered eagerly.  
  
The mirror went black. Then images flashed through it, almost to quick to catch. An eclipse. Fire. Blood. A flurry of feathers. A curved claw. Then black again.  
  
Cayn smiled once more, and let the glass drop, shattering into a thousand glittering pieces at his feet. 


	6. The Shapeshifter and the Shaman

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
Wow, I just realized how short my chapters are. They took forever to write. Anyway, thanks for waiting, all. And thank you, FireDemon for reviewing so much, this chapter is dedicated to you. You people should expect weekly updates, every Saturday or something. Once again, I ask that you just be patient, I'm doing all I can.  
  
PART VI – The Shaman and the Shapeshifter  
  
The next morning Laesha awoke grumpily. It had been another night of camping in the woods, or rather, another night of sleeping on tree roots.  
  
She felt her face cautiously. Her skin was soft and hairless, like it should be. She smiled sleepily, for once grateful that it was morning.  
  
She inhaled deeply, the morning air fresh and cold. There was an odd, slightly unpleasant puckering sensation at her throat. She touched her neck gingerly, feeling slightly panicky.  
  
Laesha had acquired gills, like a fish, on either side of her neck just under her jawbone.  
  
She sighed hopelessly. At least I don't have webbed hands, she thought, and they aren't interfering with my breathing.  
  
She got up and went over to the fire, which was on the other side of her tree and over a bit, out of the way of underbrush. Owl was already up, stirring a pot of porridge.  
  
"Good morning, Laesha," he greeted without looking up, "How are you this morning?"  
  
"I have gills, but other than that, fine."  
  
Apparently, her indifference towards waking up with new respiratory systems unsettled him, because he looked worried.  
  
"Does this happen every morning?"  
  
She shrugged and sat down, helping herself to some porridge.  
  
"I dunno," blowing on her hot breakfast, "But gills would sure be useful if I fell into a lake," she gave him a cheeky grin. "What color are my eyes today?"  
  
"Black."  
  
"Mm," she grunted through her porridge.  
  
"Hello?" said a soft voice from behind Owl. Laesha nearly jumped out of her skin, while just Owl leapt to his feet. In the shadows stood a tall, slender woman, her face concealed by shadows.  
  
"No, don't," she continued shakily, "Would you just–" she broke off and stepped forward out of the shadows, and astonished look on her soot- streaked face. Owl's expression mirrored hers.  
  
"Owl?" she gasped, as if she scarcely believed it.  
  
"Crow?"  
  
She flew forward, wrapping her arms around Owl's neck, her knees going out at the same time, nearly falling. She beamed up at him, though tears were streaming down her face.  
  
"I thought you were dead," she said quietly.  
  
"Ditto." He helped her to her feet and led her to the fire.  
  
Despite being slightly confused, Laesha spooned some more porridge into her bowl and handed it to the older woman. Seen in the light, she was extremely striking, if not exactly pretty. She had a willowy build, a narrow face and piercing blue eyes. She looked to be about nineteen, but her hair was completely silver and went down past her waist. It hung loose, with a single large black feather braided into a strand of hair. She was wearing clothing that would have been snowy white, had it not been sooty and a bit ragged.  
  
"I'm so glad I found you," she said once she had finished her porridge, which wasn't long, "I was so worried they would find me."  
  
"Who?" asked Laesha, startling the woman, who obviously hadn't noticed she was there.  
  
"Oh, yes," interjected Owl, "Crow, this is Laesha Kalenal. Laesha, this is Crowmariqel of the Tori, our village's shaman."  
  
"Call me Crow," she said congenially, "I was being held prisoner by Cayn. The Order took me hostage when they destroyed our village and had me locked up in the temple until I broke out yesterday."  
  
"That would explain the explosion," said Owl.  
  
Crow smiled, "So, Laesha, how did you end up with Owl here?"  
  
"Um, well, I had been captured by the Order, and he rescued me," she explained as simply as she could manage. She really didn't want to get into this right now.  
  
Crow gave them both suspicious looks, Laesha tried to give her a winning smile.  
  
"There's more to your story than you are telling." she accused, "The Order would only attack you if you were in Graemoon, and you did not go back to wherever you came from after he saved you."  
  
Laesha sighed in defeat, "Fine. My village thought I was a demon so they tried to burn me alive. I escaped and went to Graemoon, got captured, got rescued and convinced Owl that if I went back they'd try to kill me again."  
  
She still looked suspicious, "And why did your village think that you were a demon?"  
  
Laesha grimaced, and looked to Owl for help. He smirked, obviously enjoying her discomfort.  
  
She grumbled a bit, but pulled her dark hair back to expose her gills, "I'm a shapeshifter of some sort, the day they tried to kill me I had changed most of the way into a dragon. You know, black scales, yellow eyes, huge claws. It's been –" she paused for a moment, thinking, "Four days since then. Yesterday I was a cat person. Today, I have gills. Is that satisfactory?"  
  
Crow stayed silent for quite a while. "Can you control it?" she asked finally.  
  
Laesha shook her head  
  
"Then you are not a doppelganger," she muttered to herself, "because control is instinctive for them…." She trailed off, "Weren't your eyes black a moment ago?"  
  
The shapeshifter grinned at the shaman, "A side effect, just ignore it." Crow remained silent, staring off into nothing.  
  
"So all that painful interrogation was for nothing?" said Laesha testily once the silence had irritated her enough.  
  
The older girl snapped out of her reverie, "I do not know why or how you change the way you do, but I do know how to find out." She stood up, suddenly full of dynamic energy, "We can find the answers to all our questions. You," she looked at Laesha, "can find out how to control your transformations, and why they happen at all. And Owl," she gave him a serious look, "you can find out how to kill Cayn."  
  
Laesha nearly cheered aloud, being able to control her changes! She had always hoped, that she would never have to endure the discomfort of having to hide in barns in freezing weather, trying to put on shoes with eagle talons, eat normally when her mouth had become that of an iguana.  
  
"And where is this magical place?" asked Owl, sounding surprisingly sarcastic, "And how did you know I want to kill Cayn?"  
  
"The Temple of Alexander in Yasha," Crow answered, ignoring the second part of his question.  
  
"But that's at least twelve leagues away!" exclaimed Laesha, thoughts of never having a tail again replaced by thoughts of aching feet.  
  
"So we should get started now, we have only three weeks,"  
  
"What's in three weeks?"  
  
Crow chose to ignore Laesha's question and instead began cleaning up.  
  
"Crow," began Owl forcefully, Crow stopped and looked at the grave expression on his face. "You said we would all find the answers to our questions. What's yours?"  
  
She gave him a flippant smile, "How I can change my fate." 


	7. The Journey

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
Another week, another chapter. I don't have much in the way of notes, except that this chapter is for Tempest, for that neat little tidbit of trivia. See ya' next Saturday!  
  
^_^Stelmarta  
  
CHAPTER VII – The Journey  
  
  
  
"Just concentrate on your breathing. Keep your mind clear. Be as quiet as you can, inside and out," said Crow's voice soothingly. She was teaching Laesha to meditate. Owl was off hunting or something, plainly a bit scornful of any pastime that consisted solely of sitting still for a long time.  
  
It was the seventh night of their journey, and so far it had been extremely uneventful and monotonous. Wake up at dawn, walk till dusk, go to sleep, repeat. Laesha in particular was having an unpleasant time, being the shortest by far of the three, and thus not as fast a walker. Owl made a point of taking the rear, perhaps demonstrating his persistent unwillingness to this trip, while Crow unconsciously strode up front, not only the tallest, but also seemingly possessing an unquenchable fervor that drove her forward. Crow was like that, as Laesha had discovered over the past week, focused on her goal so utterly that the little things completely disappeared. She had not elaborated on her captivity, and every time she tried to ask, dying of curiosity as she was, Crow ignored the question completely.  
  
Laesha growled under her breath and tried to clear her mind. If she weren't so damned uncomfortable, she would have fallen asleep hours ago. But by the gods, Laesha would get this meditation thing right if it killed her.  
  
She had nearly made it when Crow broke the silence, "Okay, Laesha, that's enough for now."  
  
What perfect timing, she grumbled to herself as she opened her hazel- green eyes. She unwound her stiff limbs from the half-lotus position she had managed to twist herself in, and stood up.  
  
When she had sat down to meditate an hour or so ago, she had been looking rather sheepish. Literally. And was showing no signs of reverting to normal before sunset. But, somehow, she had completely changed back to a human, not a single woolen curl remained.  
  
Crow was looking her over triumphantly, "I had guessed that that would happen,"  
  
"What?"  
  
The shaman gave Laesha an it's-so-obvious-look, "That meditation could help you control your transformations."  
  
"Cool!" she exclaimed. Laesha had always wondered what life would have been like if she hadn't had to hide or lie, or worry that one day they would catch on. If she could control her changes….  
  
Owl walked back into the camp, soundless as usual, with a few dead rabbits, presumably for supper.  
  
Crow lit up, "Rabbit? I haven't had rabbit in ages! Not since the time Kite brought back a whole warren's worth and the whole clan feasted on it!"  
  
Laesha thought that Owl would react as he usually did at the mention of the past and ignore it, but instead he laughed.  
  
"And Swallow ate so much she passed out into her dessert," he laughed again, it was a whole new expression on him. It improved him greatly, making his habitually serious expression into something, well, happy.  
  
They both launched into a string of obscure reminiscences (and cooked the rabbits) while Laesha sulked. She wasn't used to people ignoring her, and she was quite certain she didn't like it. She felt excluded, too, but that was hardly a new sensation. Only it was completely different when she had been excluded by people she actually liked. And she was upset that Owl had never laughed with her.  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Laesha awoke the next morning feeling rather odd. It became apparent why as soon as she opened her eyes. She had become grotesquely frog-like overnight. Her arms and legs were bright green, slimy and had suction-cup tips. Her eyes were bulbous and bright yellow.  
  
There was a terrible sinking sensation in her stomach. She did not want to be a frog. AT ALL. She hated amphibians, and she was sure as hell not going to be one. So Laesha decided to try something.  
  
She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, focusing on what it felt like to be human. After a long moment, concentrating as hard as she could, she opened her eyes again. They were hazel-green and normal-sized, the tips of her fingers were devoid of suckers, and the slimy green skin was gone! She could have cheered aloud.  
  
She walked over to the fire with a spring in her step. Owl and Crow were already up and eating a cold breakfast of bread and dried fruit. Crow seemed to be half asleep, while Owl, as usual was wide-awake.  
  
"Good morning, Laesha," he greeted without looking up, "What's the story this morning?"  
  
"I was a frog, now I'm not." Laesha picked up some food and sat down on the ground near the fire, unable to keep from grinning like a madwoman.  
  
"Oh, really?" Owl gave her one of his confused and worried looks. Crow looked up at her and smiled sleepily before going back to her breakfast.  
  
Despite the rather mellow reception of her news, Laesha couldn't stop smiling. Today would be a good day.  
  
~*~  
  
They continued on their pilgrimage as soon as they had struck camp in early morning. It was twilight now, the two moons were just peeking out from the horizon; the three should reach Yasha by the next evening.  
  
Owl shifted his pack and wiped his brow, he was in the rear while Crow strode up front. They had been walking for a long time and even Crow, energetic though she was, was beginning to sag a bit.  
  
They rounded a bend in the Road and were given their first view of Yasha, the Ivory City. It practically glowed in the evening light, like an earthbound star. The temple dominated the cityscape, a huge white marble step pyramid that cast its shadow over the entire city. A shallow gully and a small expanse of trees were the only things blocking the way of the deceptively close city. The Road would lead them further forward, then take a turn back around to Yasha. Though it may have seemed like a roundabout way to get there, Owl knew it was a great deal safer than any other improvised route.  
  
This was not Owl's first time in the Ivory City, but he doubted that the others had seen anything like it before. Crow seemed to be glowing as she gazed down, light reflecting off her silver hair and white clothing, but also from within. Laesha, on the other hand, was gaping like a fish at the vista before her, a wonderful contrast to the shaman's luminescence and composure. Judging by the younger girl's expression, she had come up with something.  
  
Gods help us.  
  
"Hey, I bet if we cut through those woods we'll be there in no time," she said, saffron-colored eyes gleaming.  
  
Owl hated it when he was right. But before either he or Crow could protest she had begun scaling down the gully towards the forest.  
  
"But Laesha –" he began.  
  
"Come on, it's not like we'll get lost or anything," she called back, already down the hill.  
  
They had no choice but to follow her now, she was out of earshot, and she would indeed get lost on her own. Crow shrugged and headed down, and after a moment of annoyance, Owl followed.  
  
The sun crept below the horizon, leaving only the moons and the Ivory City to illuminate the rapidly darkening forest. 


	8. The Short Cut

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
Sorry it's a bit late, folks, I was in NYC all day yesterday and couldn't send this in. But anyway, this one's rather longer than my other chapters. It's dedicated to my aunt Chris, because a good friend of hers died of Lou Gehrig's disease last night, and even though she'll never read this, I feel she deserves it. Enjoy!  
  
PART VIII – The Short Cut  
  
As soon as Laesha stepped into the trees, she began regretting her haste. It was quite a lot darker in the forest than outside it. It wasn't nearly as thick as Graemoon, but the tree branches concealed essentially all of the moonlight, and obstacles like roots and rotting tree trunks were only vague shadowy shapes that were easy to stumble over.  
  
Well, it's too late now, she decided and pushed on further.  
  
Within mere moments, she was completely and utterly lost. Laesha had never been able to tell one tree from another in the day, much less during the night. She didn't hear the calls of Owl and Crow, and before long she was so turned around that she couldn't have found her own feet.  
  
But of course Laesha wasn't about to admit this.  
  
"Okay, moss grows on the north side of trees, right?" she mumbled to herself. Aha! There was a mossy tree, dead ahead. And if that direction was north, then this way….  
  
There was another tree in her path. A mossy one. The moss was facing a completely different direction.  
  
"Aw, come on!" she yelled and kicked the offending tree as hard as she could. And that is one thing she never did again. She swore and hopped around, clutching her throbbing foot for a few more moments before she could stand comfortably.  
  
Okay, so taking a short cut had been a very bad idea, but Laesha, determined not to be humbled by a bunch of plants, decided to push on.  
  
She stumbled through underbrush, pricker bushes from hell, and thick foliage until it was too dark to see more than a few inches ahead. She lurched forward over logs and tree roots, occasionally pausing to stretch her hands in front of her to make sure she wasn't walking into a tree. She would never be defeated by a forest. Never.  
  
The sound of a wolf's howl to the moons tricked through the foliage, joined by second and a third, and more. Laesha froze, her heart pounding so loudly it was probably waking people up in Yasha. She hoped it was and it did and they would come to rescue her.  
  
Her eyes began changing color very rapidly as fear built up in her throat like bile. The wolves were closer; she could see them surrounding her, eyes in the dark, all around, growls, sharp teeth, all around…  
  
Hardly realizing what she was doing, Laesha began running. Where she was running to was a mystery to her. The darkness was oppressive, closing in on her, stealing her breath. She ran over bushes, beyond trees, her feet crunching on last autumn's leaves, sounding like the snap of a wolf's jaws. She tripped over a log and was sent flying face-first into the ground. Hardly pausing to make sure that her nose wasn't broken, she got up and stumbled off, her ankle wreathed in pain.  
  
Then suddenly, a patch of moonlight came into view, illuminating a mossy spot near a fresh spring. Laesha stumbled towards it and fell again, the moss a soft cushion for her aching body.  
  
Fear was still coursing through her veins, the illusory wolves still snapping at her heels. Stop that, she told herself firmly, get a grip on yourself. She forced herself to take deep breaths, like Crow had taught her to.  
  
In moments, she was asleep.  
  
~*~  
  
"Laesha!" called Owl into the forest. Crow and he and been searching for hours, but Laesha was out of range. Hopefully out of range. He didn't want to think about finding a corpse the next morning, or if they never found her at all.  
  
"LAESHA!" he yelled again, suddenly frantic.  
  
"Owl." Crow placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, "We won't find her this night. However, we can continue in the morning, when there is light. Don't worry," she said, noticing his concern, "Laesha will be fine. She has unholy luck."  
  
He nodded dimly, "I'll make camp,"  
  
Together they built a small fire. Owl noticed that despite its light, the forest wasn't any less dark. The observation unsettled him.  
  
They sat without speaking, eating their meager dinner without conversation. The quiet was more oppressive than the darkness.  
  
Crow couldn't stand the silence any longer, "So, Owl, how have you been this past year?" she asked in the hopes that she could get him to say something.  
  
"Terrible," he answered sharply, "I lived alone in the woods trying to find the man who killed my family,"  
  
"There's no reason to be mean, I was just trying to involve you in conversation."  
  
"Try the weather next time," he went back to his chunk of bread, tearing it savagely.  
  
"What happened to you?" asked Crow in alarm, "You were never like this before,"  
  
"Yeah, well having your family slaughtered and your home burned to the ground in front of your eyes will do that."  
  
"I went through the same thing, and it hasn't changed me!"  
  
"Do you honestly think that? That you aren't different than you were before? Maybe not openly, but you have changed. You're hiding something, and you're terrible at pretending that nothing's wrong. What happened to you in the Order?"  
  
"I – I don't want to think about it," she looked away from him, "It hurts to remember,"  
  
"Then don't expect me to want to either," he murmured, anger spent.  
  
A long moment passed, "I'm sorry, Owl," said Crow.  
  
"We'll get up tomorrow morning at dawn and continue looking. Goodnight," Owl replied without looking at her. He threw himself on his blankets and closed his eyes. After a moment, Crow did the same.  
  
Owl wasn't trying to fall asleep, he was too troubled, more than being worried about Laesha, but Crow's accusations as well.  
  
You weren't like this before.  
  
Had he changed so much? He didn't know. His life before the end of the Tori was blurry, forced from his memory in an attempt to dull the pain. But Crow's appearance had begun to bring it all back into focus. She was acid on the wound at the same time that she was the last remnant of a time long gone. But he couldn't let himself remember, if he did, he would lose sight of his goal: the death of Cayn.  
  
~*~  
  
Laesha woke with a strangled scream the next morning, causing the birds to pause their singing for a moment. She had had a nightmare, a truly frightening one.  
  
/Pools of blood, seeping up through the smooth black floor. A figure in black, face in shadow, standing knee deep in red. The pool began flashing with images, at first just faces of strangers then some that were familiar. She began seeing people she grew up with, bright-cheeked villagers, girls in ringlets, dowagers and grouchy old men, everyone. She saw Cayn, and members of the Order, and Owl. Then came the most frightening vision of all; herself, a red tinted reflection staring back at her with vacant eyes and an expressionless face. Then she began to sink, deeper and deeper into the blood. Her ankles, her knees, her waist, her shoulders all slowly submerged. She couldn't move, couldn't even scream. The black-clad man remained motionless, faceless, holding dominion over the ocean of blood. She sank further, her chin now stained red. Moments before it would have covered her mouth and nose, she woke up./  
  
Laesha tried to dispel the memory with only partial success. The forest was bright and peaceful, quite a contrast to the dark and fearful wood of the night before. Though she was still too shaken to notice, she'd woken up normal, that it to say, human, through and through. The cheeriness of her surroundings made it much easier to forget her fear.  
  
She got up from her little mossy grotto, picked a direction, and walked off, already feeling more at ease. Birds were singing, little gusts of wind were making the tree branches rustle, and everything was very green. But she still could not quite dispel the memory of the dream; it lurked at the edge of her thoughts.  
  
Laesha was not walking for long before, suddenly, the light became brighter the trees began to thin out. Absorbed in dark reflections, she didn't notice she'd made it out of the forest until she walked into the city wall.  
  
She stared in astonishment at the gargantuan white barrier in front of her. She had made it!  
  
~*~  
  
.  
  
Owl was up at first light, ready to continue the search. Crow woke up as he did: she was a light sleeper and just as concerned about Laesha as he was. He didn't say anything to her, just handed her a piece of bread as he began packing up.  
  
Crow was slightly worried at his silence. He was obviously still angry at her, and she had no idea as to what she could do to make amends. He seemed single-mindedly set on finding Laesha. That was like him, to pretend not to give her the silent treatment by becoming absorbed in something else. She almost became angry at this, but realized she was being irrational and calmed down.  
  
"Let's go," Owl said gruffly and started off into the forest.  
  
Crow was struck by a wicked idea. Now she knew how to make amends.  
  
"Don't you think it's lovely weather for flying?"  
  
He turned back to her, looking slightly surprised. She was grinning. A slow smile crept across his face in answer.  
  
~*~  
  
Before long, the last of the Tori had taken to the air, which despite Crow's remark, was quite cold. Seen from below, they looked like two enormous birds, one with tawny brown wings, one with black. The forest was not nearly as intimidating from above. They could pick out little treeless patches in the woods, like a bald spot, ponds and brooks. It was picturesque and peaceful from a bird's eye view, though they knew that was not the case on the ground.  
  
Owl was having fun for the first time in what seemed like ages. He hadn't used his wings at all after the attack, except when he fell off a cliff the other day, which hardly counted as a pleasure ride. Before it seemed to him that it would just bring memories and pain. It seemed he was wrong. Crow appeared to be greatly enjoying this flight, it was probably the first time she'd been able to stretch her wings since she had been captured. Her silver hair streamed out behind her glossy black wings like a comet's tail against a starless sky. One thing Owl would say for her; she had a great sense of the dramatic.  
  
"Owl!" Crow shouted over the wind, "I see her! Over by the wall!"  
  
Indeed, there was Laesha against, of all places, the towering city wall. She appeared to have walked into it. They landed nearby, their wings dissolving into a cloud of black and brown feathers. Laesha turned to them, seemingly unfazed by their impressive entrance, with a huge grin plastered on her face.  
  
"I told you so," 


	9. The Temple of Alexander

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
Hello, it's me. Bet you thought I was dead or something. Sorry about that, it's been a very busy week. The winter play (which I am a Techie for), opens tomorrow, and it's been almost a month now of long rehearsals. So the next chapter will probably be a long time, perhaps two weeks if I'm diligent. Please be patient, it's gonna get good.  
  
This chapter is dedicated to normalisboring, for being not only my first reviewer, but actually continuing to read my story.  
  
Anyway, here it is, it's kinda long, but action-packed. ^_^  
  
Oh, and I plagiarized all the deity names, just to let you know. Don't sue me. Please.  
  
PART IX - The Temple of Alexander  
  
Dusinane stood overlooking Yasha, her face in its habitually emotionless mask. Her comrades stood there as well, though their faces were painted in a wider variety of emotions: awe, fear, zeal, eagerness. Their names were Rosser, Gorman and Heyda, and like the majority of the Order, were refugees, outcasts, or soldiers cast away after the war. Dusinane brought them because Cayn had ordered it so, and because she knew that these three would follow her without question or hesitation. Rosser, like many of the Order, was a Zaibach refugee, one of the few Imperial soldiers who survived the final battle. Gorman was exiled from Cesario under accusation of abetting a convicted traitor, and as a result held a bitter grudge against the alliance for evicting him from his home. Heyda, a young man in his twenties, was left without a family with the sacrifice of Godashim. But more importantly, they were suicidally obedient to their superiors above and beyond the considerations that  
Dusinane was female, a wolf, and a Forsaken.  
  
The city glowed a soft pink in the light of the dawn, a many-petaled flower ready to be ripped to shreds.  
  
Rip. Tear. Bite.  
  
Dusinane forced bloody images from her mind before they could become reality. They still had a day's worth of road to travel; she could not let her control falter. And there would be plenty of time for bloodlust later.  
  
"Lets go," she said and turned away from the city, back to the Road.  
  
~*~  
  
Once the trio had made it around the walls so cunningly discovered by Laesha, they were faced with the problem of getting in. The gate guard refused to admit them without some papers. It was a pity the guard hadn't noticed Laesha's rather long, sharp canines, or he might have reconsidered.  
  
She growled at the back of her throat and thrust her hands into the pockets in her skirt. There was something in her pocket, a feather, but also some papers. She pulled them out. "Hance, Zsuzsana. Village of Deering, Basram frontier..." They were, of all things, Zsana's credentials. It was a bit creepy that she would have them exactly when she needed them, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.  
  
"Oh, sir, I seem to have had papers all along!" said Laesha, hoping it wasn't obvious that she was lying. She gave them to the guard. He looked them over a bit skeptically.  
  
"Okay, Ms. Hance," he said to her after a moment, "This checks out, you can go in." He seemed slightly disappointed, as if he enjoyed waylaying travelers at the gates.  
  
Owl gave Laesha a `what the hell?' look; she just smiled back at him.  
  
Once they had passed the gates, "Hance? Since when has your name been Hance?" he asked.  
  
"It's not mine, I stol--I mean, borrowed this skirt from a, uh, friend. She left them in the pocket. Zsana Hance. My friend, I mean."  
  
"Yeah, sure. Well, it got us through in any case, so just make sure to thank your `friend' some time," Owl gave her one of his rare smiles, a sardonic one, but a smile nonetheless. For some unaccountable reason, she blushed slightly.  
  
The city held more people than Laesha had ever seen in her life. It was a market day, apparently, there were stalls set up by the edge of the road, each manned by someone yelling out their prices, showing their goods to prospective customers, or arguing with other merchants. It was the sort of music of the streets that can only be appreciated by those long exposed. Laesha, however, was deafened and overwhelmed. Crow was perfectly composed as usual, but she thought she caught a glimpse of the same in her eyes.  
  
"So, where's the Temple?" asked Owl to Crow.  
  
"I'm not entirely sure, but if we followed the main road, we should get there eventually," she answered, a slight quaver of uncertainty in her voice.  
  
"Eventually sounds good to me," added Laesha.  
  
They did try the main road, but it was too crowded to make any actual progress. They ended taking a few side roads and getting hopelessly lost. They asked directions of a few people, receiving different answers from all. After the fifth new set of directions, Owl just started walking east, the opposite direction indicated, and Crow and Laesha had no other option but to follow. They were not particularly surprised when they arrived at their destination within ten minutes.  
  
The Temple of Alexander was a colossal structure, a domed building made of white marble with doors that stood at least five times taller than Crow. It was not, however a building that made one feel insignificant, it rather filled the eyes and the mind with the beauty and splendor of the gods.  
  
After gaping for a few moments, the intrepid travelers ventured cautiously inside.  
  
~*~  
  
The inside of the Temple of Alexander was just as impressive as the outside. There was a single huge room, with little alcoves all around. The high domed roof was decorated with flowing script in gold filigree, and the very top was open, exposing the blue sky above. But what immediately drew the eye was a monumental granite statue of a seated man. He was extremely majestic looking, swathed in classical garments, and wearing a grim expression.  
  
Laesha couldn't help but gape, "That's the largest statue of Alexander I've ever seen."  
  
"That IS Alexander, Laesha," said Crow, her head tilted back as well in order to see it all, "Not just a statue. After he had finished forging the universe he became a statue, this statue."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because if he moved so much as an eyelash his creation would unravel," said a voice at her ear. Laesha whirled around, eyes changing from midnight blue to pale pink in an instant. It was a priest, wearing white robes trimmed in gold, slightly amused at her reaction.  
  
"Okay, from now on, nobody does that to me," she said, flustered, annoyed and embarrassed. She could hear Owl snickering behind her.  
  
"Sorry, miss, it's not my fault you didn't hear me," said the priest, trying not to laugh. Laesha glared at him, which had the opposite effect intended, and he began to laugh in earnest.  
  
"Sorry, sorry," he chuckled, "Anyway, the shaman is correct, this is the very spot where Alexander decided to rest for the remainder of his creation. The Temple was erected over it many years later, that's partly why it's such a large building."  
  
"We need -" Owl began.  
  
"Answers? No such thing, only more questions," he cut in, "But I suppose you have come to the right place. Follow me, please," He began walking off in the direction off in the direction of the alcove directly opposite the main entrance. Inside was a door made of every material imaginable; gold, silver, precious stones, metal, rock, wood. It wasn't very large, but it didn't need to be to boggle the mind. There were engraving on it, of animals and plants, gods and men, stars and mountains, everything in existence it seemed. There was no handle and no visible hinges.  
  
He turned to them, the air of cheer previously around him gone; now he radiated an aura of solemnity and formality. "You may enter one by one. First the Panwere," he gestured to Laesha who was ushered forward before she could ask what the hell a panwere was. When she reached the threshold, the door seemed to vanish, then reappeared once she had stepped through.  
  
"Now you," he said to Owl, giving him a pointed look as if daring him to act up. Owl stepped forward a bit grumpily and disappeared in the same manner that Laesha had.  
  
Then the priest turned to Crow, "You know what the answer will be, but still you ask. Why?"  
  
She looked down, "I will not accept the answer until I hear it for myself. Until then, there is still hope."  
  
"Running will do no good, and neither will questions, but you must realize that yourself," he gestured to the door. Crow gave the statue of Alexander one last look, then stepped through the portal.  
  
~*~  
  
Laesha was in a room with no roof. Above her head stars twinkled quietly, despite the fact that it had been day in Yasha. Her eyes wandered along the walls and sky until they met a young man draped over a chair at the other end of the room. He appeared to be fifteen, though judging by the aura of importance he gave off; he was much, much older. He looked at her and smiled. Laesha found herself walking towards him without realizing that she had moved her feet. The god, because that's what he must be, had wild violet hair, and eyes that mirrored the ceiling of this roof; a field of stars. He looked her over, but in a way that she could tell was not merely of her physical self.  
  
/ It is not often that I am visited by a Panwere / he stated. His voice hurt Laesha's ears. It sounded like starlight, cold, distant, and yet overwhelmingly powerful. This would be Brayan, she decided, the god of magic.  
  
"A what?" she managed to choke out, her own voice sounding puny and frail.  
  
/ A Panwere. / he gave her a cold, starry gaze, / That's right, you don't know, do you? / he smiled patronizingly, which caused her ankles to give out, leaving her sprawled on the floor. Her ears were really starting to hurt now, and she was beginning to regret taking an interest in religion. Brayan got up from his chair, a little frown of concern on his smooth face. He helped her up, and smiled apologetically, and this time with no ill effects.  
  
/ You'll have to excuse me, / he said quietly, now in the realm of human hearing, / It is not often I get mortal visitors. My children are few, while those of my siblings are more each day. / He sat back down in his chair and brushed his violet hair away from his eyes in a curiously human manner.  
  
"What's a Panwere?" asked Laesha, her curiosity overriding any sense of awe in the deity in front of her.  
  
/ One of the peoples of Atlantis. When the Atlanteans gained control over fate, they changed their bodies. Most gave themselves white wings, a few imitated the wings of birds, and others became like animals. But there were a few who did not wish to choose a single shape, so they gave themselves the ability to change. There were only a dozen or so when Atlantis was destroyed, and those that survived began to die out slowly. You, in all likelihood, are the last Panwere on Gaea. /  
  
"Huh?"  
  
/ Only you would say `huh' to a god. /  
  
"Sorry, it's just a bit much all at once."  
  
He raised an eyebrow, / Would you prefer that I started again but did it very, very slowly? /  
  
"Uh...not really."  
  
/ Then don't complain. / He smiled again; assuring her that he wasn't being serious. / Is there anything else I can do for you? Wait, I know, /  
  
Laesha wasn't quite sure what that meant, but she found out an instant later when her pendant appeared in his hand. It was definitely not on her neck anymore, but how he got it, she didn't want to guess.  
  
/ Aha! / he exclaimed, / This is what's been causing you all those problems; I'd be happy to take care of that for you. / There was a flash of purple light and the crack was gone. Her pendant had become smooth and flawless, and slightly luminescent. It now seemed more than the piece of junk she had worn around her neck for the last sixteen years. Then it was back in her hands with no apparent transit.  
  
/ The rest I leave to you. /  
  
And with that, the room faded around her, the stars above her flickering out, replaced by the marble ceiling of the Temple of Alexander.  
  
~*~  
  
Owl was in a dark room, lit by wavering torchlight. There seemed to be racks of weapons and armor along the walls, but he couldn't see well enough to tell for sure. There was a shadowy figure standing at the other end of the room, fingering a wicked-looking glaive.  
  
/ What do you want, mortal? / demanded the figure. Her voice was a steel blade that managed to convey in that one sentence complete and utter disgust for the world in general.  
  
"I want to know how to take revenge on Cayn," he answered; sounding uncharacteristically timorous, resolve wavering. He took a step forward, but the goddess held up a hand, and more than fear froze his limbs. She turned toward him, caught by the wavering firelight. Her face was like her voice, sharp and cold. Her eyes were red, her hair white blond and cut severely above her earlobes. She was not in armor, but one got the strong impression that she didn't need to be.  
  
/ Do you know who I am? /  
  
Owl nodded, the words frozen in his throat. She was Din, goddess of battle, it was written in her appearance and in her every movement. She put the glaive on the rack against the wall and stepped towards him. She gave him a look that assessed every fiber of his soul. Owl pulled himself up, forcing the fear and awe away with only marginal success.  
  
/ Why do you want to kill him? /  
  
"Because he destroyed my life," he managed, giving her the sternest look he could. As she turned around he thought he caught the edge of a smirk. She continued pacing slowly in front of him like a caged tiger waiting for the perfect moment to strike.  
  
/ Why did he destroy your village? /  
  
"I don't know," he said through gritted teeth.  
  
/ As a mortal, you have the advantage, or curse, of having to make your own choices. I suggest you think about this one for longer. / She stopped pacing and turned towards him, her face achieving a new level of steeliness.  
  
/ Revenge is a dish best served cold, as they say, and do you know why? Because it loses its taste once it's cooled off. / she gave him a piercing look, / Take my advice and live your life free from the curse that is vengeance. Leave and do not look back. /  
  
Anger boiled away at his invisible bonds. She didn't understand his pain at all, she couldn't! How could she tell him to leave it? To forget his family! He would never forget what Cayn had done to him.  
  
"I came here for answers!" he shouted at her as she walked away from him.  
  
/ There are no answers, only more questions, / she replied, turning her head and smirking slightly.  
  
And then he was back in the Temple, staring at the door that he had stepped into only moments ago. Laesha was there as well, looking up at the ceiling, clutching her necklace in one hand and looking rather confused. Crow was nowhere to be seen. The priest has wandered off as well.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked, a note of concern in her voice.  
  
"Nothing," he snapped.  
  
Laesha opened her mouth angrily, but was denied the chance to say anything by Crow's sudden appearance. She was suddenly just there, looking less dramatic than usual despite her entrance. She had an expression of extreme sorrow on her face, though there was still a dim flicker of defiance in her blue eyes.  
  
Owl almost expected Laesha to ask Crow the same thing she had asked him, but she just stayed silent, for once knowing when to keep her mouth shut.  
  
The shaman stared at the door with an unreadable expression for several long moments.  
  
"I've been running," she said quietly, "I know that it has done no good, but rather harmed those I cared about. You can't outrun the Fates, and trying is suicide. But I can't stop, I can't," Crow took a deep shuddering breath, while Owl and Laesha just stared, and waited, unsure of what they should do. "I now know that I have been wrong to hide it from you. The least that I can do is try save you."  
  
She seemed to gain some of the confidence that she had lost, as if she had resolved a question that had been haunting her. "Many millennia ago," she began, voice even and steady, "Dust became lonely in the land of the dead, he wanted a wife. As the god of the dead, he was ever alone among the wraiths, the spirits of the dead. So he selected a woman named Ashes to be his bride. She went willingly to his side and served him as the Leading Light in his dark world for five hundred years. But because she was mortal, she gradually faded, passing out of the netherworlds and going back to her home in the land of the living, reincarnated as another. Dust reclaimed her on the day of the Heguinedes eclipse, and it began again. So every five hundred years, the soul of Ashes is reborn in a mortal body, to return to Dust after twenty years during the day of the Heguinedes eclipse."  
  
She seemed to be finished now, but something still needed to be said, they could feel it the air.  
  
But it was never uttered aloud, because at that moment, there was a bloodcurdling yell from behind them, and suddenly they were beset by three men in the gray armor of the Order. Two went immediately to Crow and roughly pinned her arms behind her back. She barely gave a struggle. The third went to Laesha, and Owl found himself confronted by a wolf-woman with a red glaze over her eyes and the mark of the Forsaken under one eye. He had to devote all of his concentration just to keep alive. He thought he heard a feral snarl from Laesha and there was a flash of pink light. This, however, did not distract his attacker, and he was soon being held to the ground with two very strong paws. Laesha was putting up a valiant fight, but even with claws the size of meat cleavers she was loosing. She let out a lion-like roar and took a wild swipe at the man, her claws raking through his cheek, blood dripping onto the white marble floor. She raised her hand for another strike, but froze  
suddenly, eyes wide, face pale. One of the guards who had been holding Crow took this opportunity to grab her. She simply stared vacantly at the bloody floor, claws receding slowly into bloodstained fingernails  
  
"Gorman," said the wolf to the wounded man, he nodded slowly, clutching his face. She turned to the others of the Order, and with a simple jerk of her shaggy head she indicated that they should leave. The priests, though the Temple had been crawling with them before, were nowhere in sight.  
  
"We taking these two with us, boss?" asked the man holding Laesha.  
  
The wolf nodded curtly, "Cayn-sama will find some use for them." Though he couldn't see her face, Owl thought he detected a sadistic smile along with those words. If only he could get his knife....  
  
The wolf pulled him up roughly and his were hands tied behind his back by Gorman, the wounded man. He did the same to Laesha, only with a bit more force, some form of revenge, no doubt. She slumped to the floor, only semi-conscious after the skirmish.  
  
The wolf-woman stalked over to Crow. She was looking down, her silver hair masking her. The wolf lifted her face up, and gazed at it for a moment.  
  
"Now what did you think you could accomplish by running away?" she purred, an edge of anger in her voice, "We knew where you were going to go, what you would do, and there was never any doubt that we would get you back. The gods are on our side this time, there's no use running." She smiled, baring her sharp canines at her, "Or did you think you could actually talk Dust out of it? If so, then you really are foolish, Ashes."  
  
The wolf turned sharply around, Crow simply lowering her head again, her face painted in anger and shame. She cast a mournful look at Owl, mouthing the words `I'm sorry'.  
  
Now he understood, and the revelation shed almost too much light on everything that had happened to him in the past year. But there was no time to ponder it now, and he suspected he might never live to fully know.  
  
The four soldiers of the Order dragged their respective captives to their feet and exited the Temple, heading back to Graemoon forest and to Cayn. 


	10. The Dungeon

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
Boy, it has been a while. Sorry about that, folks, it has been a very busy three weeks. But I swear that the next one will be here next Saturday, you have my word as an esca otaku.  
  
This chapter is dedicated to RAD, who was my very first reviewer *ever*.  
  
Yeah, this one's kinda short, but longer things are to come.  
  
Enjoy! Oh, and review!  
  
PART X – The Dungeon  
  
Laesha opened her eyes very slowly. It felt as if someone had taken out all her bones, whacked them around a bit and then put them back in the all the wrong places. She was in a dark cell, with stained and mildew pocked stone walls, a thick wooden door and a single small barred window.  
  
"Where am I?" she asked to no one in particular, groaning and closing her eyes again.  
  
To her surprise, she got an answer; "In the dungeon of the Temple of Dust. You were unconscious for most of the trip over," It was Owl speaking; apparently their captors didn't consider them important enough to be separated.  
  
"Was I?" she mumbled, "Oh. What happened to Crow?"  
  
She didn't get an answer to this. She glanced at Owl; he was glaring fiercely at a particularly moldy spot on the wall. She half expected it to burst into flames.  
  
"Owl," she said as she sat up, fed up with his sulking, "Get over it, whatever happened won't go away if you ignore me."  
  
He turned his glare at her, "Crow betrayed us."  
  
"Lying doesn't make it go away either,"  
  
He reddened in anger, and a little voice told Laesha that she shouldn't have brought it up.  
  
"I am not lying," he spat out, "Remember all that 'outrunning destiny' crap she was talking about and the legend of Ashes?"  
  
"Yeah, Ashes, some poor chick who has to live with Dust and dies a lot."  
  
"Laesha, would you just shut up and listen?"  
  
She did. Something was telling her that she shouldn't annoy Owl when he was in this mood.  
  
"And do you remember what the Forsaken called her?" he said with a little sigh of exasperation.  
  
"What Forsaken? We fought a Forsaken? And we're still alive!"  
  
"Laesha!" he growled, at the end of his badly frayed patience, "Crow IS Ashes."  
  
She felt the bottom of her stomach drop out, "What?" she gasped.  
  
"The eclipse is in seven days. She'll be sacrificed and all the other prisoners, including us, will follow shortly after her." Owl again concentrated on the moldy spot on the wall.  
  
"But—she never said anything," Laesha was still having a bit of trouble grasping this news. It did make sense, now that she thought about it, the secrets, evasions, and why Cayn was holding her in the first place. But…Crow? Ashes?  
  
"And now we're going to die because of it," said Owl with a nasty edge to his voice, "It's all her fault."  
  
Laesha's eyes flashed from hazel to chartreuse and she stood up, furious and impatient with Owl's sulking, "Would you god-damned get over it! It's not her fault that she was born; it's not her fault that we're here now. And it's not her fault that your family's dead. When the gods get involved, you can't blame mortals. When will you realize that?"  
  
He turned towards her; angry lines etched into his white face, but didn't say anything.  
  
~*~  
  
Not another word was spoken until their dinners (some thin glop masquerading as stew, and black bread) came. Laesha had spent the time dozing; she was still exhausted for some reason. Owl had fumed and brooded so fixedly that she was starting to feel guilty about attacking him like she had.  
  
The door opened, and a guard carrying two battered tin plates entered the cell. He placed their dinner on the ground, for them to pick up themselves.  
  
"So, you kids having fun yet?" he joked, rather tactlessly. He was perhaps twenty-five, with tousled blond hair and white teeth displayed through his broad smile. To Laesha's eyes he looked far too good-natured to be a member of a death cult.  
  
"Okay, fine," he said in gracious indignation, "I was just trying to lighten the mood, no need to get so icy on me," Owl's fists were clenched, and he was glaring at him. The guard raised an eyebrow at this, and then looked to Laesha, "Is he always like this?"  
  
She blinked at him; she was too confused at his behavior to respond. "Jeez, you guys are talkative. I just figured that I should get to know my guardees; I'm not going to kill you or anything. It just gets awfully lonely on these long guard shifts, and I figured that it's worse in a cell and that we would both appreciate the company," he said this all very fast, "Whoa," he was staring at Laesha's face, "Your eyes just changed color!"  
  
"Uh, yeah," she said weakly.  
  
He beamed so widely she thought his face would collapse, "Good, now that words have been exchanged, I'm Rhys." He leant down and extended his hand to her to shake. She took it rather cautiously.  
  
"I'm, uh, Laesha, and that's Owl," she couldn't help but trust him; he wore amiability like perfume  
  
"I'm not going to try shake his hand," he added in an undertone nodding slightly in Owl's direction, "because he might yank it off," he waggled his eyebrows. Laesha smiled back.  
  
"Well, I gotta go," he said, straightening up and heading for the door, "If there's anything you need, just shout. I can't guarantee you'll get anything, but at least you'll have a sympathetic ear. It's been lovely meeting you two, and I'll see you at breakfast!"  
  
Rhys flashed one last blinding smile at them and left.  
  
After a long moment, Owl got his food and sat back in his corner, "So, gone over to the enemy already?" he asked her acidly.  
  
"Well considering that you're my only other option for company, and you're being a snotty bastard, I have absolutely no problem with chatting with 'the enemy'". Laesha got her plate and sat down. She began attacking her food with a singular focus, almost, but not quite oblivious to Owl's expression, which fell somewhere in between angry and hurt. But she did see it, and it made her feel terribly guilty. And on top of that, an idea was niggling her.  
  
Finally she couldn't take it anymore, "Look, Owl, I'm sorry to be so harsh, but you know it's true. So stop with the sad puppy look. Sulking won't help us get out of here,"  
  
"Get out of here? Have you finally cracked?" he asked, bewildered. At least he wasn't sulking.  
  
"Well," she began blandly, "I thought that you wouldn't want to die here in misery, at the hands of your enemy, in such a dishonorable and painful way…but maybe I shouldn't have assumed," she was really laying it on, but he was listening now.  
  
He narrowed his eyes, "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Well, I was thinking we could escape in some way –"  
  
"Are you sure you're alright? I think you need some more rest," he said with a hint of mockery in his voice.  
  
"Oh, shut up, Owl. I'm serious,"  
  
"Well, that's great, but do you have some sort of plan or is this all idle speculation?" he was definitely mocking her now, a faint smile played along his lips. Laesha decided that being teased was worth it if this worked.  
  
"Not a plan as such, but I'm getting there," she said, "I was thinking we could get the other prisoners involved,"  
  
"How? We're separated by locked doors and stone walls, it would be kind of hard to communicate," he said skeptically.  
  
"Well, that's where Rhys comes in,"  
  
"Okay, that settles it," he threw his hands up in exasperation, "You are stark, raving mad. Why in hell would we ask the enemy if he'd help us beat him? He'd either laugh his way out of the cell or have us killed on the spot,"  
  
"I don't know, he seems too nice to really be on Cayn's side," she said.  
  
"How could you tell? He could be some sado-masochistic creep who only pretends to be friendly to get his victims off their guard," said Owl.  
  
"Good point," she conceded, "But we wouldn't ask him straight out or anything, we'd try and find out where he stands first,"  
  
"I can just see it now, 'So, mister, how do you feel about prison revolts?' Yeah, brilliant plan," he snorted.  
  
"Fine. Do you have any ideas?" Laesha asked, slightly annoyed, though smiling despite herself.  
  
"No, yours is fine," he said glibly, and grinned at her when she put her face in her hands in infuriation.  
  
"Fine," she said, massaging her temples, "I'll talk to Rhys in the morning when he brings breakfast, you just continue acting like a bastard and he won't suspect anything. Okay? Goodnight." She took a ragged blanket from a pile by the wall and curled up the floor, exhaustion creeping up on her again. Owl was smiling as he closed his eyes.  
  
Definitely worth it. 


	11. The Plan

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
True to my word, here is Chapter 11! I should be able to update next Saturday, but I can't make any promises at the moment. I'm dedicating this chapter to myself, because not only did I do a damn good job on my exams this past week, but I wrote this chapter, an essay, posted another fic, and managed to keep my sanity. :-b  
  
By the way, "Rhys" is pronounced "Reece". Don't ask me, it's a Welsh name.  
  
PART XI – The Plan  
  
The dawn crept slowly into the cell in the dungeon of the Temple of Dust, the morning sun shining through the barred windows onto the wall. Laesha awoke slowly. She imagined that the striped shadows were cross-hatched like the window in her room back home, and that she was in a soft bed with clean linen sheets and feather pillows. The illusion didn't last for long; and soon the reality of the cold dirt floor beneath her brought her to full, and grumpy consciousness. Owl was sound asleep for once. In sleep he looked incapable of making those cutting remarks, and it was difficult for her to stay irritated for long.  
  
Laesha's pendant had crept out from under her shirt during the night. She fingered the cold stone, now strangely smooth. It occurred to her suddenly that she hadn't changed shape at all in the past week. She frowned in puzzlement; she had never gone more than three days without changing in her life. Something must have happened.  
  
Her eyes widened in realization. In the Temple! Brayan had taken the pendant and…. healed it. And said that it was the cause of her problems.  
  
"Well, that makes sense," Laesha said aloud, surprised to find that it did. The fracture in the stone had had something to do with not being able to control her powers. It was so simple that she felt rather stupid for not realizing it earlier.  
  
But could she control her powers now?  
  
The question echoed in her mind, reverberating in every fiber of her being. The desire to know was overpowering, she had to know if she would ever again wake up with hooves, or horns, or a beak. She wanted to know what color her eyes really were.  
  
She squeezed shut her eyes, and forced her awareness down to her fingertips, demanding claws of her mercurial form. She gritted her teeth, held her breath and focused her consciousness to a pinpoint. But maddeningly, frustratingly, infuriatingly, nothing happened.  
  
She was deeply troubled by her failure. How had she done it in the Temple? She couldn't remember but she doubted that it would work anyway. The world was out to get her, after all.  
  
But Laesha, being the stubborn girl she was, would not let it go. So, just to be contrary, she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, clearing her mind and letting the consciousness she had so recently been exhausting flow quietly to all her pores. If it worked in making claws go away, it might work in making them come back.  
  
Once she felt she was sufficiently relaxed, she slowly crept up on the idea, whispering her desire. There was a slight shiver as the message was passed on silently through every atom.  
  
She felt the strangest pulling sensation at her fingernails and slowly, very slowly, there appeared delicately hooked claws. Once it had stopped, she cautiously opened her eyes, triumph setting in as quietly as the claws had. Laesha cheered aloud; regardless that Owl was asleep, that she was in enemy hands, and that there were guards outside.  
  
"I did it Owl! I did it!" she shrieked, shaking him. He blinked blearily, and rubbed his eyes.  
  
"What?" he asked, squinting at her.  
  
"I can control the changes! I did it!"  
  
"That's all? Why'd you wake me up?" he said, and went back to sleep. Laesha was too happy to care.  
  
~*~  
  
By the time Rhys arrived several hours later, Laesha had successfully made her claws disappear and come back several times, her elation dying down to a bubbly contentment as the sun traveled higher in the sky. She had told Owl again, once he had properly woken up and was more receptive.  
  
"Good morning, Rhys!" she greeted with a huge smile as he came in with their plates of gruel for the morning.  
  
He was happily surprised to see that she was in such a friendly mood, and readily returned her smile.  
  
"Hello, Laesha! Nice to see you so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed," he said, giving them each their breakfasts.  
  
"Oh, but I'm happy because I'm not!"  
  
He shot a worried look to Owl, "Is she alright?"  
  
Owl, true to his part, growled at him.  
  
"I'm fine, really, just in a very, very, very good mood. So, how are you this morning?" she asked, ready to start putting her plan into motion.  
  
"Doing well. One of the other guards got the graveyard shift last night instead of me, which was a treat," he smiled, but not with his usual huge, teeth-bearing grin, but just a slight curve at the corner of his mouth, as if knew something they didn't.  
  
Laesha didn't notice this, but Owl did. He stopped glaring at the guard's back, and went on the alert.  
  
"Yeah, I was just wondering," began Laesha trying her hardest to keep her speech smooth and casual as possible, "What brought you to the Order?" she was failing, miserably, and all three of them knew it. Owl reached slowly to his belt for the knife that wasn't there.  
  
To their immense, and joyous surprise, Rhys laughed. "Don't worry, I heard you two conspiring last night," he said, voice lowered, "And I'd be more than happy to help,"  
  
"You would?" burst out Owl, "But—"  
  
"I'm not in the Order because I worship Dust," he cut in with that slight smile again, "I'm here on my own little quest for revenge. But unlike you, Owl, I've decided to bring the Order down from the inside. You see, two years ago, after the War ended, the remaining Zaibach soldiers and refugees dispersed peacefully among the few welcoming places left on Gaea. All but for Cayn and a few others, who refused to accept that the Empire was dead and decided to kill a lot of people on their way out of the west. Cayn began by striking down a runaway, a young woman named Shular. I found her by the side of the road the next morning, Cayn's name carved into her flesh. She was a great friend to me, and it broke my heart to see her like that.  
  
"There is a tradition among my people in Daedalus: when a relative has been killed without a cause, we call a blood feud upon their murderer. After we have killed them," he smiled again, now with a hint of bloodthirstiness, "We return to our homes, and the feud is fulfilled. Because Shular had no relatives able, I went after Cayn. When I finally tracked him down, he had set this cult in motion, and once I saw what it had done already, in the short time that it had been in existence, I decided that I would destroy the Order as well as it's leader."  
  
He gave them each a long look, "I have been waiting for a while now for the perfect opportunity to strike, and you're arrival, and that of Ashes, provides it."  
  
"But how can you stand it? Being here," asked Owl, voice choked, "How can you remember your friend and not strike down Cayn once and for all?"  
  
Rhys cast a look over his shoulder at Owl, a look more sorrowful than even he had managed to muster, "I remember Shular, and I stop myself. She was the gentlest creature ever to grace Gaea. That is why the end of this feud will be sorrowful, because I will think of how she would have reproached me for becoming what Cayn already is. It is her hand that stays mine from a killing blow."  
  
Something in these words struck a chord in Owl. He was silent, and very pale.  
  
Rhys turned to Laesha, "I will gladly help you in any way that I can. Just give me your orders."  
  
~*~  
  
Rhys began speaking to the other prisoners about a revolt in the quiet of the evening, when he did his main guard shift. According to his information, there were ninety-four prisoners in the dungeons, all of who were eager to get revenge. Only eighty-nine, however, would be able to lift a sword. There were only about fifty of the Order, but they had weapons and were in good health.  
  
Rhys began taking all night shifts, telling his commanders that he preferred to sleep through the unbearable heat that had set in. He spent all of it conferencing with Owl and Laesha. Together, the three of them began formulating a plan. On the morning of the eclipse, Rhys would let all the mutineers out of their cells and they would go to the main level of the Temple. From there, a company of seventy would immobilize the sentries, and ensure that the members of the Order would not be able to get out of their barracks. How this was to be done was not discussed, it was assumed that the prisoners would take matters into their own hands no matter what the orders were. The remainder would free Crow and capture Cayn. Laesha didn't dare inquire as to what would happen to Cayn once he was captured.  
  
Now all that remained to be done was preparation; a job only Rhys could accomplish. Arranging convenient unlocked doors, gathering discarded weapons, finding the sentry lists, and a number of other vital tasks. He only stopped by now for a few minutes for meals, any more would have made an already suspicious habit more noticeable. All Owl and Laesha could do now was wait.  
  
There were two more days until the revolt, and Laesha was getting worried about Owl. He had said very little since they began that hadn't pertained to the plan, and had taken to staring out the window for long periods.  
  
He was in one of these episodes now. The moons were hovering just in their view from the cell, and were getting close to being full. Laesha got up from her corner and walked quietly over to the window, placing a hand on Owl's shoulder. He started at the touch, and stared at her for a short moment before turning away.  
  
"What do you see up there, Owl?" she asked quietly, astounded at the depth of sorrow in his eyes.  
  
"I can see them in the stars, my family. The entire village. They're still watching me," he answered, just barely above a whisper, "I tried to kill myself after they died. I went down to where my home had been and pulled a broken dagger out from the ashes, ready to slit my wrists and join the rest of my kind. But I couldn't do it. I saw my mother's face reflected in that rusty blade, remorseful, reproving. She saved me during the attack; she locked me in the root cellar when she heard the Order coming. There was only room enough for one, and not enough time for escape.  
  
"She was so gentle," a tear was snaking its way down his cheek. Now his words were coming faster, but they were still quiet, "Her hands moved like feathers, gently brushing my hair out of my face, or the dirt from my clothing. We had so many animals in the house, because she couldn't bring herself to turn her back on any living thing. Squirrels, foxes, cats, dogs, birds. Father hated it, but he loved mother, and for her, lived with them all with a smile on his face. Jay wasn't any help to father, either. As soon as he could walk he started bringing home pets like mother. He thought father liked it. Kestrel would always turn her nose up at them, but as soon as no one was looking she would be spoiling them all rotten. All of the them died in the attack, when the longhouses were set on fire. My mother couldn't protect them any more.  
  
"I couldn't stop myself from remembering them, and couldn't bring the steel to my wrists. So I decided not to kill myself quickly, but slowly instead, by filling my heart with hatred and revenge, and shoving away the memories of love and warmth. I thought that once I had done that I could finally die without mother, and father, and Jay, and Kestrel, and everyone else staring back at me, begging me not to let their memories disappear. But they almost did. I now I wish I could." He let out a long breath; finally letting those memories out had lifted a heavy burden from his shoulders. He let out a long breath, as if finally unshouldering a heavy burden.  
  
Laesha couldn't find words to comfort him, but somehow, she felt that they weren't needed.  
  
She gathered Owl in her arms and let him cry into her shoulder until they both fell asleep as the sun came up the next morning.  
  
~*~  
  
They were still sleeping, leaning against each other, when Rhys barreled his way in the next morning. He shook them awake, frantic about something.  
  
Owl woke up quickly, "What's wrong?" he asked, sensing his urgency.  
  
"I'm not entirely sure," Rhys was drawn and white, "But I think Cayn found out,"  
  
"What?" exclaimed Laesha, suddenly very alert.  
  
"I don't know," he wailed, "He wants to see me in a few minutes, which is bad, because he never talks to guards unless they've done something terribly wrong!"  
  
"Calm down," said Laesha, "It could be for something else, you never know."  
  
"I dunno," he was getting hysterical, "I'm getting a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I'm going to fail. And failure in this game…."  
  
Owl leveled him with a look that froze the guard in his trembling, "Think of Shular, she wouldn't want you to fear Cayn. She would want you to stand up tall before him and make him fear you."  
  
Rhys looked down at his feet for a moment, "You're right, Owl. Everything is for her. I may not come back," his voice was steady now, "But the plan will continue, do you understand?" he turned to Owl, "And get one in for me 'n Shular, would you?"  
  
He then proceeded to tell them in detail all the things they needed to know, where the weapons were, which sentries to take out first, which cells the prisoners were in, and where the keys could be found. Then he left, giving them both one last smile, almost, but not quite, devoid of sadness.  
  
That was the last they saw of him. 


	12. The Aurora

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
Hello again! This chapter was almost on time, close enough I suppose. This one's dedicated to St. Patrick, because not only did he introduce Christianity to Ireland, but also gave us a great excuse for a holiday. I can't make any promises for the next chapter; it's coming along very slowly. Mata ne!  
  
  
  
PART XII – The Aurora  
  
Crow looked out at the sky through her window. The moons had long since passed her view, but the stars were bright. It was almost midnight. A violent shiver ran through her body as a hint of light flashed at the edge of the horizon. It came again, but larger, and again, waves of light heralding the oncoming tide. Soon, the entire sky was filled with sheaves of radiant color – the Aurora. It was the day of the Heguinides Hejffeclipse.  
  
Crow knew, from her training as a shaman, that this was no ordinary aurora. It was the wedding present from Brayan to his brother, Dust. There was no way that it could be natural, they were far too south.  
  
She shivered again and turned away from the window. She might have enjoyed the aurora, if it hadn't been on the day of her death.  
  
She could still see it, though; the colors were cast onto the white walls of her room. Cayn had attempted to make her cell more comfortable, being as she was the guest of honor by attempting to disguise the fact that it was halfway underground with a coat of paint and a proper bed. He couldn't, however, in all his might, change it from what it was: a prison.  
  
She lay down on her bed, but didn't even close her eyes; she knew that sleep would not come.  
  
What a way to spend one's last day alive, she thought despondently, all the other Ashes' spent their last hours with their friends and family, experiencing mortal beauty to the fullest. Then they would go to their house, or at the foot of their favorite tree, or simply sit down with their parents, and pass to the next world in peace. Simply, quietly, and without fanfare or tears. Some would undergo a ritual, depending on their customs, such as drinking poison, jumping in a lake with weights tied to their ankles, or at the feet of a priest. Not at the mercy of the leader of a cult, a boy too bloodied to be called a boy anymore. Not in a cell.  
  
None of the others had had regrets, either. They knew who they were from the time of their births to their deaths, and had prepared for it. They had been taught from the beginning that they were receiving a great honor, a gift, and had come to eagerly look forward to their ascension to the heavens. Same for their families, once their beloved daughter passed on, they would receive bounty from Dust for another twenty years as a reward for taking care of her during her stay in the mortal world. The crops would grow, healthy children would be born, and Ashes would be remembered with fondness and gratitude for many generations.  
  
But from the first, Crow's father, the old shaman, denied her identity. He couldn't bear the thought of loosing his only child, and the only thing of his wife's left to hold onto. So he hid the knowledge from her and the entire community. He had Seen it at her birth, there was no doubt, for he gave her her name: Crowmariqel, the morning star, the 'Leading Light'. But he dropped no other hints, let no suspicion enter the village. He only told the old legend once, and then at a direct question.  
  
She found out eventually, how could she not, when the memories of her past lives began to bubble up to the surface of her dreams? Once the questions became too much for her young mind she got an explanation out of her father.  
  
It hadn't seemed like such a big deal at the time. Twenty years old seems a long way away when you're eight, and she thought she had all the time in the world. She couldn't help wondering what would have happened had the old shaman revealed to the rest what a great honor the gods had bestowed upon his daughter. Maybe everyone would still be alive; maybe right now she would be resting underneath the stars, watching the Aurora with gladness, instead of fear.  
  
But Cayn would have come anyway, she knew this, and there was no stopping him short of divine intervention. And she had prayed every night to the gods for this intervention since he had first found her.  
  
But there was never any answer. No shamanic rituals, fasting, or vows of any kind had yielded results, not even talking to the gods themselves. She was inexorably drawn to her fate, there were no pauses, no reprieves, no second chances. Cayn would kill her at noon today and receive Dust's blessing.  
  
This was his reason for every one of his actions, this god-given bounty. He killed her family so there would be no one else. He would be killing her in a few hours, because he believed that handing Dust an unwilling Ashes was sure to improve his reward. And he had made sure that Crow would be unwilling, simply by reminding her every day that it was her fault that the Tori had been destroyed. She knew that this was his aim, but the accusation still hit its mark, because she had been blaming herself for that every day since on her own.  
  
And she knew that there was no escape; whether or not Cayn killed her with his own hand. Dust would claim what was his no matter what she, or anyone else, tried to do.  
  
She could not win today, and her mind was darkened by the knowledge.  
  
~*~  
  
/ A figure in black stood in a pool of blood. Arms open, a gesture of welcome to a dark embrace. His robes made no ripples in the crimson surrounding him, and his face was shadowed. There was another, standing nearby, a figure in white. She was real, her bare ankles were stained and she sent little waves to the end of the ocean of blood every time she moved. She was talking; her words were indistinguishable at first but slowly came into clearer focus.  
  
She was begging for deliverance, if not for her than for the others. But her real meaning was made clear and it hung in the air like a thick fog. Don't kill me, she meant. The figure in black was silent and motionless, but his rebuke flowed through the air, dispelling the fog of the truth like a gust of wind; you are selfish, like a human. But that's what I am! She screamed back, but the truth betrayed her again; but that's what I want to be! Too late, too late, the figure silently replied, that which is made by mortal hands will be unmade by them. She cried out, and whispered a denial. No rebuke awaited her this time, but the scene slowly faded out. The figure in black remained clear the longest, and just before the image was gone, a pair of pale eyes flashed from the shadows. /  
  
/ Too late. /  
  
Owl started out of his rest, sweat on his brow and his heart pounding. The dream…no, the message, had been very clear.  
  
He kneaded his eyes with the heel of his hand, how could he have misjudged Crow so? How could he have mistaken her fear and her pain for cowardice and treachery? The dream had let him see that she had tried. For all that she would be able to care, he knew why now, and wouldn't forget.  
  
Everything was changing. The revenge that he had set upon so long ago seemed to be unimportant and selfish now, no longer a noble quest for justice. But it was too late to turn back now.  
  
He got up, severely doubting his ability to sleep after a dream like that and went to the window. There was an aurora sweeping its way across the night sky. It was utterly spectacular to behold, but he couldn't dismiss the unsettling knowledge that they were far too south for it to be possible.  
  
After a moment he tore away his gaze from the captivating lights. Laesha was sleeping soundly, curled up against the wall. She had exhausted herself before going to sleep by testing her ability to change shape numerous times, preparing for the revolt the next day.  
  
He turned back to the window. A new light was beginning to soften the edge of the horizon: the light of dawn. 


	13. The Avengers

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
Hello, again! Here is chapter 13, and only a day late! Ain't that a nice treat? I don't have much in the way of notes; I just wanted to say hi. This chapter is dedicated to…um………Hayao Miyazaki, the creator of many anime classics, like Nausicaa of the Valley of the Winds, Princess Mononoke, My Neighbor Totoro and lots of other stuff. He's cool.  
  
The next chapter may be a while, it will be longer, and it's the last chapter (well, they'll be an epilogue, too), so please be patient for me. ^_^  
  
  
  
PART XIII – The Avengers  
  
The key turned slowly in the rusty lock. The door swung open, wondrously blinding light streaming into the small cell. The prisoner was a woman, badly starved and neglected. Her skin, in better days, had been the color of polished ebony, but was now streaked and sallow. She reached out a thin hand to the girl standing in the light of the door.  
  
"What can I do? How can Esma help you?" she spoke in a thick Cesarion accent that almost overpowered her hoarse voice.  
  
The girl seemed a bit surprised at the prisoner's enthusiasm, but held out the key, "You could unlock the rest of the cells in this hallway. If you don't mind."  
  
Esma smiled, "I would be happy to help a friend of Rhys." She took the key from the girl's outstretched hand as if it were simply a piece of cold metal, not the freedom that is was to so many prisoners.  
  
The girl dashed off with a parting salute, and Esma, prisoner no longer, stepped out into the hall, ready for the retribution to begin.  
  
~*~  
  
"What the deal with the prisoners?"  
  
"Well, Rhys' definition of 'able-bodied' was a bit liberal, but they're certainly willing to fight,"  
  
Laesha was in a small dark hallway that ran parallel to the main corridor by the cells. Rhys had purportedly hid a cache of weapons behind a storage bin, buried in the cold dirt floor. Owl had already unearthed the hiding spot and had begun to sort and stack the rusty blades, cast-offs of the Order, but serviceable. All the prisoners had been freed by Laesha or were being freed by helpful others like Esma. A short line of them had already begun to form by Rhys' store of weaponry.  
  
Laesha's hands were shaking. She had never attempted anything like this before, and she wasn't sure she could handle the responsibility. Eighty-nine people would be counting on her for leadership. Eighty-nine half-starved, vengeance fixated, adults were depending on a sixteen-year old girl who had never been farther than twelve leagues away from home.  
  
Owl, noticing her trembling, shook her gently. "Don't worry, Laesha, we're in this together, all of us."  
  
She let out a nervous giggle, "Am I that transparent?" He gave her a dim smile, meant to be reassuring, and turned back to the hole.  
  
He was right, though. She took a deep breath. She wasn't leading anybody into battle. Her call to vengeance was nothing compared to some of these others. All she had gotten from Cayn was a forced march and a week in prison. Others had been captured months ago and had seen nothing but the inside of their cells since then. These eighty-nine people would rebel as they saw fit. No plan, no matter how well laid, could survive the hatred she had seen in their eyes. The least she could do was point the way to Cayn.  
  
It was out of her hands.  
  
~*~  
  
Owl gave the last of the weapons to the prisoner in front on him, luckily the last in line. Rhys had arranged things impeccably; everything was where it should be, every detail accounted for. All except for the possibility of discovery. And even then, he had made sure that the plan would work in his absence.  
  
Owl was having serious doubts as to whether they would ever see him again, but wouldn't allow worry for his friend to interfere. Rhys was just one more soul that needed avenging. One more comrade who had fallen to Cayn's sword.  
  
But each time he repeated that to himself, it sounded more and more like what it was: a hollow attempt to stave off the sorrow long enough to wreak his vengeance.  
  
He shook himself from his thoughts, only to find himself alone in the dark back corridor, realizing that Laesha had just told him that everyone would be assembling in their cell, armed and waiting only for their last instructions.  
  
He had no idea if Cayn had managed to discover the extent of their plans, or if he had summoned Rhys simply on a fleeting suspicion. But even if the entire Order were waiting outside of the prison to slaughter them, the plan would go forward. Every single person who had been freed this morning would rather die in the open air with a weapon in hand than wait for Cayn's sacrifices in the damp and dark. Owl knew that without needing to ask any of them, because he felt it himself.  
  
Weapons. That's what was missing, his bow and his dagger. That dagger had been handed down from his grandfather to his father and then to him. And now some fanatic was using it to eat his supper. A month ago, this thought would have made his blood boil, but things were different now. It wasn't just about him any more; ninety people had become involved, all with their own agendas and equally valid grievances. And the gods were part of it too. This had become too serious a game for heedless fury and rash actions, and so he couldn't allow them anymore.  
  
Weapons. That's right, he didn't have any. Laesha was going unarmed, saying that the steel should go to those who weren't able to summon poison tipped claws at will. But Owl had no trump card at his disposal, except perhaps his wings, and besides, he wanted to fight this battle without the aid of magic. A fair fight.  
  
He crouched down to the hole where the store had been hid. There was the faint glint of steel at the bottom of the shallow hole, the very last of the stash. Someone else's discard was better than nothing at all. He reached in and pulled out a long dagger of Tori make, a longbow, and a quiver full of arrows.  
  
They were his.  
  
They were his own, his own, dagger and bow and quiver. Well used and cared for, even after they had been taken from him.  
  
The last gift of a generous friend.  
  
But there was something else in the hole, a piece of dirty and crumpled paper. Owl picked it up gingerly, as if expecting it to crumble into dust. On it was scrawled: "For Shular".  
  
Owl placed his trembling hand over the crumpled paper, anger beginning to flood his heart again.  
  
"For everybody," he whispered hoarsely.  
  
~*~  
  
After the last instructions had been given, the prisoners, or as they had begun to call themselves, the Avengers, had set out on their mission. All eighty-nine of them were in various stages of emaciation, exhaustion and illness. Captivity had not been kind to them. And these were the healthiest of them. The others waited below and rested.  
  
There had been no need to immobilize any prison guards, Rhys made sure of that, so they had no problems getting up to ground level. The stairs were narrow and ill-lit, moving in a shallow spiral. The wood steps creaked and complained under the weight, but the Avengers remained eerily silent, for ones so close to vengeance.  
  
When reaching the top of the flight of stairs, each paused for a moment, feeling the first breath fresh air since they had been locked up down below. There was only was only a small room up top with a door to the outside and some storage areas. Following the rest of the prison building, it was dim and decrepit, with more mold on the gray stone walls than could be found on the floor of Graemoon forest.  
  
Once everyone had made it up heads began turning to Laesha, waiting for guidance. Though she might not realize it, the Avengers had begun to see her as the leader of their enterprise. This perhaps originated from the snide question asked of her: "And where are your weapons, little miss? Gonna fight them with your fists?" She replied by unsheathing a very sharp claw and a "yes". There were some laughs, but there was no doubt in Owl's eyes that she had won their respect. She had responded to that respect and unconsciously taken charge, despite her earlier nervousness. This was fine with Owl; he was too concerned with Crow and Cayn to care much about the rest of the prisoners.  
  
Laesha, sensing the eyes upon her, motioned everyone outside. The aurora was blazing in the early morning sky, in defiance of the laws of nature that dictated that it couldn't exist. The entire band was struck silent at the sight, in awe of the dancing lights and the sensation that something was waiting, anticipating something great. Whether it was Cayn or a higher power was unclear and immaterial. A wind stirred the trees, but the rustling leaves made little noise, as if they too were awestruck by the heavens.  
  
Laesha cleared her throat and began to speak, still gazing at the sky, "So is everyone clear with their duties?" she asked, her voice sounding dampened and hollow, as if the aurora was swallowing up all sounds. The Avengers all nodded and tore their gaze away from the wonder. They began creeping slowly towards the barracks, where the guards would be silenced and the soldiers of the Order imprisoned in their own barracks.  
  
Laesha started to go after them, but halted when she saw that Owl was moving in the opposite direction.  
  
"Where are you going?" she asked.  
  
"I'm going to free Crow," he replied flatly.  
  
"Wait until we're done with the barracks, then we'll have no problem getting her out," she said, every inch the commander.  
  
"No." he said impassively but with a level of force that she hadn't heard before, "I don't give a damn about the Order! Crow is the only family I have left and I won't leave her to Cayn any longer than I have to."  
  
With that he turned brusquely and began his way to the Temple. The Order was unimportant, they seemed like nothing more than a delay to him, something that could be sidestepped, but otherwise ignored.  
  
"That's fine, Owl," called Laesha after him, "But I'm coming with you." He stopped and looked back at her, slightly taken aback by the conviction in her voice. She exchanged a few words with a thin black woman, and then scampered up to where Owl was standing.  
  
"Well, let's go then," she said, with considerably more enthusiasm than Owl felt. 


	14. The Revolution

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
Hey, folks, it's been a while. It turns out that I was lying when I said that there was one more chapter to go (plus an epilogue). I realized this once I finished this half, and noticed that it was already on the long side. Granted, it took me a while to realize that, otherwise, this chapter would be over ten pages long and I'd be posting it sometime next month. So here is chapter 14 in the story that keeps getting longer.  
  
Note: a miet (mentioned near the end) is a unit of time used in the series. It's about half a minute.  
  
This chapter is dedicated to the Queen Mum, who died a week or two ago at age 101. I think that she deserves a great amount of esteem just for living that long, not to mention that she was active until the end. So, God Save the Queen etc., enjoy the chapter and please please please please be patient.  
  
  
  
PART XIV – The Revolution  
  
.  
  
The Avengers didn't as much storm the barracks as drop in, as the plague might visit an unsuspecting household and leave just as quickly, death in its wake. There was no proud standard, no battle yells. They simply opened the doors and entered. Then proceeding to kill every human inside with an icy exactitude.  
  
It is unsettling, as the soldiers of the Order learned, to fight a silent enemy. All their other battles had been fought just as much with noise as with steel. But these attackers simply cut the soldiers down, not a flicker of emotion disturbing their cold masks born of hatred and imprisonment.  
  
For some, anger is a curse that clouds their judgment and deadens their thoughts. For the Avengers, anger was a tool, to be honed and sharpened like any blade, not an emotion. Only afterwards would they feel.  
  
~*~  
  
Dusinane strode down a hall of the Temple of Dust, her feet clicking hollowly on the stone floor. The smooth obsidian walls gave one the feeling of being trapped inside the deepest dungeons of hell. That fear was precisely what Cayn had intended to inspire: fear of the Order, fear of its leader, and of its god. Even Dusinane was not immune to its effects, for she, unlike many others, was fully aware of the obsessions and madness that inspired Cayn's actions. For he was insane, perhaps not originally, before the Great War, before Dilandau and Dornkirk, but now...  
  
Before, Cayn had simply idolized Dilandau, as a child idolizes an older brother, but from the moment of his death in the final battle, this hero-worship became as warped as his hero had been in life. Now he sought no less than to become and surpass Dilandau in bloody deeds and mad actions.  
  
Dusinane shuddered. She remembered Cayn telling her the story of his life, how the flickering torchlight fell upon him, his porcelain face transformed into a skull, his red hair blood streaming from an open wound, alternately wildly impassioned and utterly impassive. It had struck more fear into her heart that anything ever had before.  
  
But this did not stir unease or rebellion in her, but rather solidified her devotion to Dust and the Order. The merest whisper of discontent was overpowered by the remembrance that she, as a Forsaken and a wolf, was destined to wander Gaea totally alone until her death. Cayn welcomed her despite it, or perhaps because of it, promoted her, and gave respect to her that he gave to no others. His acceptance of her more than made up for any fear of his madness.  
  
To her surprise, her feet had carried her to her destination without any direct commands. There was a small doorway cut into the obsidian directly facing her that led to Ashes' cell. She bent over a bit, her shaggy head still brushing the doorsill, and entered.  
  
The captive was sitting on her cot, her legs pulled up to her chest, her forehead resting on her knees, almost trembling with apprehension. Beyond her, through the single window, the aurora blazed. It was almost as if it leeched it's color and brilliance from Ashes, leaving her drawn and pale while it grew in glory by the moment.  
  
She looked up at Dusinane as she entered but did not stir from her spot on the bed. Her blue eyes, usually bright and piercing, were dull, and her skin was almost the color of the new white robes she was wearing. She gave the wolf a ghost of a smile.  
  
Ashes always made her uneasy, Dusinane wasn't sure exactly why. Maybe it was because she was of the divine, or maybe it was that lately she seemed to look through you instead of at you. But she didn't care to speculate too deeply on the matter, she was a soldier, not a philosopher.  
  
That sense of disquiet was worse than usual today; she looked like an earth- bound spirit with her silver hair and white skin. The only color in her was the blue of her eyes, eyes that gave a new meaning to the saying that they are the windows of the soul.  
  
"Hello, Dusinane," said Ashes, attempting to mask her anxiety with composure, "Have you come to take me over already? It's still early,"  
  
The wolf nodded brusquely, "The prisoners have organized a revolt and Lord Cayn wishes to keep you from harm,"  
  
Ashes seemed to straighten up slightly, "A revolt?" she asked, outwardly only casually interested, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes now.  
  
"Yes. Lord Cayn managed to root out the leader, but there is still a risk."  
  
"The leader?" she asked, almost failing to conceal her concern.  
  
"A warrior from Daedalus, one of the prison guards,"  
  
"Oh," Ashes said opaquely, the worry gone as well as any other traceable emotion.  
  
There was a long moment of silence. The wolf knew that she should be taking her charge directly to Cayn, but something, perhaps a sense of pity, kept her from moving from her spot in front of the door.  
  
"Why are you afraid?" asked Dusinane abruptly, surprising herself with words that were not hers. Ashes' eyes flickered, as quickly as lightning, from blue to gray and back as they widened in shock. She looked down at the blanket she was seated on, collecting her wits and her words.  
  
"I…I don't know, exactly. I could say it's because I die today, but that wouldn't be true," she answered. It seemed to be taking all of her control to keep her limbs from shaking, "I think that I'm afraid of losing myself. That once Ashes takes over, Crow will be lost forever. I have no family, you know. You were there when they were killed. So there's no one to remember me, me as I am now, or was before. No one. I will vanish into the river of time without even a ripple. That is what I fear."  
  
She stopped short, the only signs that she was crying a slight sniffling sound, muffled in her knees. Dusinane didn't know what to do. She was a soldier, and unaccustomed to people pouring their hearts out to her. So she stayed where she was, standing stiffly at the door while the girl sobbed quietly into the white folds of her robes.  
  
But it seemed that a supernatural force had taken hold of Dusinane's tongue, because she began to speak, and more eloquently than she had ever before and ever would again; "You, you are a truly brave woman, for you do not fear your ever-approaching death. I, however, fear it above all things, but still yearn for the closure that it brings. Even as I am, a soldier and a warrior, facing Dust in the face on a regular basis, the thought of standing in front of the Judges makes my blood run cold. You have no sins upon you, or you might fear judgment as I do. Only sins such as mine inspire the mark of the Forsaken.  
  
"For you see, I am a wolf who slips into a killing Rage, where friend and foe are one and the same and all are to be obliterated, as easily as you may slip into a dress. I went into Rage first when I was fourteen. The moment I awoke and discovered that I had slaughtered my family to the last was the moment I became Forsaken. The scar on my face may heal or fade, but the scar on my heart will be with me beyond death. I still hear their screams in my nightmares.  
  
"Fear is overcome by those who deserve absolution. You are one such person, but I – I will remain Forsaken even after death. Forsaken by my gods, Forsaken by my world, and Forsaken by my self. This cannot, and will not, be changed. And that is what I fear."  
  
Dusinane was released by the voice that had seized her. She felt weak in the knees, and if it hadn't been for the rigid armor, she would have fallen to the floor then and there. As unexpected as those words had been, they had all been true.  
  
Ashes had gotten up from her bed and was now standing with the purest expression of understanding and sympathy that Dusinane had ever witnessed. That was all that was needed to ease the newly awakened pain in the wolf's heart, nothing but a kind expression. What was it about this woman that could inspire such eloquence from a soldier like Dusinane?  
  
The solemnity of the room was cruelly broken by a noise from the hallway. Dusinane's sharp ears immediately identified the sharp noise as that of a shoe slipping against the smooth obsidian floor.  
  
The Avengers had arrived.  
  
~*~  
  
Laesha swore an oath that would have made milk curdle, she was supposed to be silently creeping, not squeakily slipping.  
  
She was scouting the maze of black hallways looking Crow and avoiding being discovered by Cayn or his cronies, or at least trying. Owl was checking out another hallway, but it was unlikely that either would find her on this level. But still, Owl insisted on thoroughness.  
  
Stupid thoroughness.  
  
It was equally unlikely that any of the Order would be in the Temple at this hour of the morning. Most of them were sleeping, until very recently at least. So the curse was unnecessary, she decided, and so were all the stupid precautions.  
  
But, unfortunately for her, she was most decidedly disproved by the arrival of Cayn's lieutenant, the Forsaken, out of the doorway directly in front of her.  
  
She couldn't even muster a swear this time, all she could do was unsheathe ten very sharp claws and hope.  
  
~*~  
  
Dusinane relaxed slightly, she had been expecting legions of prisoners armed and angry, only to be confronted by a girl, hardly five feet tall to her own six and a half with nothing more than a set of sharp fingernails.  
  
She was a soldier, and a damned good one, and knew when exerting herself would be unnecessary. The tranquility that she had so recently found had been left in the cell with Ashes, she could keep it there for all Dusinane cared. War was in her blood, and she liked it that way.  
  
The girl had begun dancing around, lashing out with her claws, trying to meet the target easily dodging her. It was really rather ridiculous. The wolf smirked, and simply backhanded her, disregarding finesse in favor of pure force.  
  
And the fight was over before it could be begun, the girl, now unconscious, victim to her own overconfidence.  
  
Dusinane, while muttering something about fools digging their own graves, picked her up and draped her over her shoulder. She was a surprisingly light burden, even for one so short.  
  
Ashes stumbled out into the hallway, to see what the noise was about, but stopped when she saw the girl. She said something that Dusinane couldn't catch, but it was plain that the prisoner was an acquaintance.  
  
"Go back inside," growled the wolf, "I'll be back in a moment once I've put her someplace secure,"  
  
"Is she – dead?" stammered Ashes  
  
"No."  
  
She let out a sigh of relief and slipped back into her cell to await Dusinane's return, surprisingly obedient. The wolf sighed herself, but in resignation, shifted the limp girl over to a more comfortable place on her shoulder and set off.  
  
~*~  
  
Owl froze, hearing footsteps echoing down the obsidian corridor, they were not Laesha's and they were coming towards him. He leapt back to the relative shelter of a side hallway just before the wolf-woman came within sight. He held his breath in the panicked hope that if he were very still he would be invisible.  
  
She walked up to the side corridor, and past it, her view of Owl blocked by the body slung over her shoulder. He let out his breath, the comprehension that the body had been Laesha's barely registering. Crow must be down this hallway, that's where the Forsaken had come from. He briefly glanced down the expanse of the black tunnel before going down the corridor at a quick jog.  
  
A calmly dangerous state of mind had overcome him. It was as if the organs for feeling had shut down, and his entire being was concentrated solely on finding Crow and rescuing her. Cayn didn't matter. Revenge didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Crow. He would find her and save her and apologize. The gods could hang themselves, and so could everyone else.  
  
He made it down the corridor quickly, spurred forward by the thought of his mission. There was an open door marking the end of his road. He could see Crow sitting, her back to the window where the aurora was blazing brighter than ever. She looked up sharply when she heard him enter, but didn't rise from her place nor utter a sound.  
  
"Crow, come on, she'll be back any moment," urged Owl, taking her limp hand and trying to pull her up.  
  
She looked at him calmly, emotionless, and did not move from her spot.  
  
"Crow, they're going to kill you!" he shouted, his mission veering off from its expected path in a frightening way, "Don't you realize that? If I don't get you out, you'll die! I can't let you die, I won't!"  
  
She withdrew her hand from his, still infuriatingly serene, "You're wrong," she answered quietly, her voice taking on an entirely new tone; one of quiet and illuminating majesty.  
  
"What?" he stuttered. How could this be happening? Everything was slipping from his hands. His calm focus was quickly unraveling, his emotions being reawakened when they would be of the least use to him. "Surely you don't want to die!"  
  
"Owl, I have no choice," she said.  
  
"Yes you do!" his voice cracked, "You can leave with me and we'll go away from here!"  
  
"Owl," she said, staring him in the eyes. He calmed, "No matter what you try to do, I will die today. It is not something that mortals can alter."  
  
"But…" he interjected weakly. He had never noticed before how pale she was.  
  
"You must leave here. Free Laesha and take the other prisoners and go. My fate is out of mortal hands, and there's nothing you can do." She stared into him, the pure force of her gaze and words making him give in to her requests.  
  
"Leave," she continued, "Dusinane will be back any moment,"  
  
Still struck speechless, he complied and left the room, and began to run. He cast one last glace back at her; she was looking out of at the aurora now, her back to him.  
  
As he ran, the spell Crow had cast over him faded, and a sullen anger replaced it. Neither the icy calm of before, nor the burning rage he felt when his family had been killed. His anger smoldered, hot but controlled and more dangerous than anything else.  
  
Crow was wrong. He would save her, and Cayn would die. She might turn her back on him, but he wouldn't turn his back on her.  
  
Once out of the Temple, he turned without pausing to the barracks, now gutted with flames and thronged with cheering Avengers.  
  
The most potent force in war is hate, and Owl knew just how to feed the fire.  
  
~*~  
  
About thirty miets later, Owl found himself running through corridors of obsidian once more, but this time with a handful of the fittest, and angriest, of the Avengers trailing behind him.  
  
Each footfall closer to his goal.  
  
Cayn had ceased to exist in his mind; his crimes were in the past and could not be changed. But he could still save the last of the family that had departed, and that was all that mattered now.  
  
Owl would brave the fires of hell and the tortures of the mortal world to replace his shattered peace and finally accomplish his purpose. And that, to him, was more than enough to triumph over the wishes of the gods. 


	15. The Eclipse

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
Wow, I'm sorry that took so long, but this chapter is rather long itself, so I think I have a more or less viable excuse. Once again, I lied, this is not the last chapter. Or it is and there's just two epilogues. This story just keeps getting longer and longer. I promise the next one (followed by the real epilogue) will be the last. And it shouldn't take me too long, though knowing my schedule it will and I'll get lynched. I'm blabbering, aren't I? It's almost midnight, what do you expect? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, because I worked pretty hard on it.  
  
A quick word on reviews: as far as my knowledge runs, three people read that last chapter of mine. I have no way of knowing otherwise. So I would appreciate, if you're reading this, if you would let me know that you're there and review. It doesn't have to be clever, or funny, or coherent, banging the keyboard with your head is welcome. I just want to know if anyone's out there. And as an added incentive, I'll mention everyone who does review this chapter in the next one's dedication.  
  
No dedication for this one, I'm too sleepy to come up with something.  
  
  
  
PART XV – The Eclipse  
  
Laesha didn't open her eyes. Her head hurt too much. But try as she might to block out everything and black out again – for there's no pain when you're unconscious – the outside world kept intruding. The cold, smooth stone against her cheek. Ropes chafing her ankles and wrists. A rough cloth gag in her mouth. The sounds of movement, footsteps, the swish of fabric. The faint ringing of a blade being sharpened.  
  
All of these sensations remained separate and distant of each other, Laesha's sore mind unable and unwilling to make any sense of it.  
  
But the reality can only be blocked for so long, and soon the pain ebbed enough for the realization that she was being held captive to coalesce. Her memories were a bit longer in returning, but when they did, only the ropes kept her from leaping up and screaming.  
  
Where was she? Was Cayn behind her, knife in hand? She was afraid to look, if Dust be there ready to take her to the underworld. But curiosity is a force as strong or stronger than fear. She opened her eyes.  
  
She was staring at a pale gray marble wall. No Cayn, no Dust, no nothing. She nearly screamed in frustration at this, but couldn't because of the gag. What in the names of the gods was going on!  
  
After several moments of impotent rage and blind panic, Laesha finally regained the common sense that had abandoned her long, long ago. It was quite a shock, actually, to be furiously tearing at bonds one moment, then calmly telling yourself the next that it was a bad idea and that you should pretend to still be out cold.  
  
So shocking, in fact, that Laesha actually listened and stopped struggling. It was uncannily like Owl was whispering in her ear.  
  
But he wasn't. She was alone in enemy hands and utterly at their mercy. This realization, instead of making her panic, made her even more receptive to this new sensibility she had acquired. So she set her mind into motion, to try and figure out where she was.  
  
She was lying on her side on the floor against a wall, both formed of cold gray marble. Her feet and hands were tied together behind her back, and a gag was in her mouth, tied at the nape of her neck. A slight breath of cool air on the shoulder facing up told her that there was a door or window above and behind her. And judging by the colors cast faintly onto the wall, the Aurora was still blazing. She must have been out for an hour or so; at least that's how badly her head hurt.  
  
Then she listened, hard, to the sounds around her. The hard click of footsteps told of armor, but there also were the sounds of fabric rubbing against itself. There were, she decided, at least two people in the room, one was pacing, and one was sharpening a knife. The walker was farther away and was either a large person or wearing very heavy clothing. The knife was closer, and little could be told about him (or her) except that they were wearing garments made from fine cloth, with long sleeves that hissed along with the sharpening stone.  
  
Laesha began to doubt her faith in simple deduction; she had learned practically nothing at all about where she was. And that little voice replied that she had, but she was too much of a dolt to realize it.  
  
She wasn't so sure she liked this little voice.  
  
But before she could commence arguing with herself, someone spoke:  
  
"How much longer, my lord?" asked a soft contralto with a slight growling overtone. The pacer.  
  
"Not long," he replied cajolingly. The knife. And Laesha knew, with a sickening twist in her stomach, exactly who he was.  
  
"Why do you ask?" he continued after a moment with a tinge of concern coloring his tone.  
  
"Because, my lord, there are people running down the hallway,"  
  
There was a slight titter, but it wasn't either of the previous two.  
  
Crow?  
  
But now she could hear the runners too. Laesha dearly hoped that it wasn't reinforcements from the barracks. But it couldn't be, that annoying little voice pointed out, the rapid footfalls were that of bare feet. So it was the Avengers, acting true to their name and hunting down Cayn Eversra.  
  
A commotion arose from the other end of what she now realized was a very spacious room. The attackers were slamming their bodies into the doors, and the two inside were scrambling to defend themselves.  
  
Laesha had half a mind to start cheering, or at least trying to cheer through her gag, but the other, logical side, suggested that she take this advantage of distraction and try to free herself.  
  
With the best feral grin she could manage through a wad of cloth, Laesha unsheathed another set of claws and set to it.  
  
~*~  
  
The doors gave way suddenly, Avengers pouring from the threshold like a river from a dam. Dusinane had barely enough time to snatch up a sword before they were upon her, scrambling to be the first to cut her down.  
  
But their numbers were their downfall, with everyone crammed into the narrow hallway before the main chamber, Dusinane had only to swing and the entire front line went down. There were quite a few of them, though, and they were getting closer.  
  
She hoped that Cayn was safe by the Altar. Not that he couldn't take care of himself, quite the contrary, but rather he had a job to carry out.  
  
Dusinane kept swinging while the moons moved in their inevitable course across the heavens.  
  
~*~  
  
The Eclipse was almost at hand. Even through the shouts of the attackers she could hear the almost inaudible whispers of the stars down from the open skylight above the Alter on which she was laid.  
  
Crow kept her eyes closed, choosing to feel rather than see; feelings were more vivid than sights. She could feel the deaths of the prisoners. The warm blood upon cool marble. Owl's fury. The strain of the wolf's muscles. Cayn's fear running deep beneath his anger. She could feel Laesha stolidly cutting through her bonds.  
  
It had begun. Crow knew it in her soul and felt it in her body, as if she were being stretched thinner and thinner, leaving her at the transparent essence of herself. The world was already dim, as dim as she was to the world.  
  
The fear was still there, the panicked fear from before, the fear of mortality, but it now tore at itself in the back of her mind, unable to affect her as it had before. A new sensation was overtaking her: a feeling of calm acceptance. It trickled over her consciousness so quietly, so unassumingly that she barely realized that it was there at all. She welcomed it.  
  
The years of fear were being eroded away, and peace came in its wake. Soon Crow would be gone, and Ashes in her place.  
  
Even this thought could not burn away her tranquility. Nothing could, now.  
  
~*~  
  
The Avengers were gaining ground, steadily forcing Dusinane back towards the dais one step at a time. She was in Rage now, foaming at the mouth, eyes red, untroubled by the thousand little wounds she had sustained. Her attacks were wild and sweeping, leaving more than enough openings for the attackers to take advantage of. If they weren't cut down first.  
  
Their ranks were thinning rapidly, but they pressed ahead, regardless of their fallen comrades and of their own lives. Finally Dusinane had encountered opponents less willing to live than she.  
  
Not the least of these was Owl. He seemed to be in Rage himself, barely keeping out of reach of the wolf's blade, sacrificing safety for proximity to his target. He was working solely with his dagger now, having used all his arrows on the remaining guards. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and it was frighteningly clear that the only thoughts passing through his brain were of clearing a bloody path to Cayn.  
  
The picture of the Altar was an eerie one: almost entirely devoid of color. The gray marble structure with a waxen Crow lying upon it, her silver hair flowing off the edge of the stone, just brushing the floor. Cayn stood by her, his skin as pale as the white robes he wore. The bright red of his hair was the only color in the scene.  
  
Cayn gazed up through the open skylight above the altar; lips curled in an expression that was more like a bear trap than a smile. He gripped the ceremonial knife tightly, as if were the only thing keeping him on the ground.  
  
Only a few more moments before the Eclipse took place. Only a few more moments until immortality…  
  
Laesha had managed to shift enough to get a view of the room. The ropes were stronger than she had thought initially, but she had freed her hands and removed the gag already. No one even noticed she was there.  
  
The view through the skylight drew her eyes towards them, as if by magnetism, and try as she might, she couldn't tear herself away. It captivated her. So much that the newly born common sense was silenced, and she didn't notice the hard black scales that had already covered the entirety of her arms and legs. But those scaly hands moved of their own accord, steadily sawing through the ropes that bound her ankles.  
  
Just as they snapped, the Aurora suddenly disappeared. She hadn't realized how much light it lent to the room before, and in its absence, the only illumination came straight down through the skylight. The attack ceased and those still standing could only stare at the sky. The Rage was calmed, and the pain was soothed.  
  
And slowly, the shadows of the moons began to move into the light.  
  
The Eclipse was at hand.  
  
Cayn raised his dagger above his head; ready to let it fall the moment the last sliver of light was gone, his face in a twisted expression of glee. Gaea held her breath.  
  
The light slimmed to a crescent and kept moving, framing Crow's face. Cayn's knife began its descent, impossibly slow.  
  
At that instant, Crow made her first movement since she had been laid out on the cold marble. She opened her eyes, no longer blue, but radiating a warm gray glow that seemed to reflect the last light of the Eclipse. No mortal had eyes such as these.  
  
Cayn's knife plunged into a pile of white and black feathers.  
  
There was a moment in which everyone could do nothing but stare in wonder. Cayn, his knife buried to the hilt in feathers. Owl and the few Avengers remaining, weapons still raised. Dusinane, bleeding from a thousand places. Laesha, her face covered in dragon scales.  
  
A faint light shimmered below the skylight, and for a moment two figures were visible. A man, tall and powerful, clad in black and face in shadow, and a woman, a graceful beacon of gray light who seemed to smile softly beneath her radiance. And then they were gone.  
  
The shadows moved from the light with their disappearance, and broke the bonds that they had placed. Clear noon skies smiled down through the skylight. No longer were the Temple and Altar places of fear and death, but old and antiquated, as if relics from an age long past, now just another page in the dusty volumes of history. The new light banished it all.  
  
The Avengers' fury had suddenly gone from them, and the ones still living began to sob quietly. Cayn still stood by the Altar, staring in disbelief at the pile of feathers. There was no more pretense, no hiding anything; raw emotion was the only thing left to any of them.  
  
Cayn's masks were gone, showing a brief glimpse of the fear and desperation hid behind the façade of madness. Laesha almost felt sorry for him, he looked like a street urchin, pathetic, starved for love and attention. Almost. She still had the scars from when he backhanded her. But it seemed so long ago, another lifetime.  
  
She absently rubbed her cheek where the abrasions had been. Her face was already covered with a coat of thick, black scales, her fingers capped in the dragon claws she had used to cut through her bonds. But it didn't bother her anymore.  
  
Owl was still standing, though barely. If Laesha had chanced to see him, she would have seen the same wretched expression on his face as she had on Cayn's. He was the last, now. And it showed in the waxen color of his cheeks. No tears fell from his eyes; this was too much for even tears.  
  
Dusinane pulled herself up where she had slumped to the ground. There was fire in a thousand cuts all over her body where blades had scorched her flesh. She knew she should have worn armor, but Cayn forbade it, saying that it would be inappropriate in a ceremony to Dust. And now she could barely stand. She had to get up, to protect Cayn. She was a soldier, and it was her duty to protect her commanding officer. At any cost.  
  
Cayn, still shocked, reached down and gently felt a black feather with his fingertip. A slow, malicious smile spread across his face like a tidal wave, wiping out the raw disbelief and shock and restoring the mask of cruelty and madness in its wake.  
  
He snatched a feather by the stem and tossed it into the air almost gleefully, and let it glide gently down. With one swift movement, he cut the feather in half with his knife, turning a malevolent grin directly at Owl.  
  
He turned away and began to walk slowly towards Laesha, though not to her. She would come later; he had other prey now.  
  
"So, boy," he drawled, turning back, "It seems your little revolt failed. For you see, I'm still alive, and she," he gestured to the Altar, "is certainly not. And your little band, well, I'm afraid they won't survive much longer."  
  
He paced up to Owl, peering at him for a moment, "You must be a Tori, you have the look of their kind. You know, filthy little monkeys with wings. I feel I've done Gaea a great service, ridding them of another of Atlantis' cursed species. I had fun destroying your village; I do love the smell of burning feathers."  
  
Owl had gone very, very still and pale, hands clenched at his sides, knuckles whiter than polished ivory. Laesha had once wondered what he would be like if he really lost his temper, and now it looked like she would find out. This was bad.  
  
Cayn turned away again and paced up to the Altar, taking a handful of what was left of Crow's body and running one under his nose, "And I think these will serve admirably,"  
  
Owl's temper snapped. He threw his knife at Cayn with all the force he could muster in his tired muscles, his face twisted in agony.  
  
But a brown blur stepped out in front of Cayn at the last moment, and the dagger thudded into Dusinane's abdomen instead.  
  
She staggered and fell to the ground, without a sound, without a tear. She had fulfilled her duty. Cayn was safe.  
  
He stepped aside, away from the growing pool of blood around the wolf's body, his look of surprise flickering from revulsion to triumph.  
  
"You see!" he called, " I have cleansed Gaea of another cursed creature, and by your hand!" he crowed with laughter at Owl horrified expression, "Oh, this is too much! If I weren't going to kill you, I'd keep you around for entertainment! But as it is, I am going to kill you and your little friend over there, and then, only then, will my work truly be done." He chuckled, "Dragon-girl and Birdbrain, how precious,"  
  
Then, feeling he had talked enough, he drew his blade and advanced.  
  
Owl was standing there glaring at his enemy, making no effort to try and find a weapon. He had reached that end of desperation when pain is welcomed and Dust embraced.  
  
But Cayn had forgotten about Laesha, and how far from helpless she was.  
  
She rammed herself into him and sent him flying away from Owl. After a stunned moment he leapt to his feet and came at them again, blade dancing, if anything more enraged than before.  
  
Laesha shoved the still unmoving Owl from Cayn's path and narrowly succeeded in dodging his attack. His sword skidded off her scales instead of connecting with flesh. He tried again and thrust his blade at her chest in a killing blow.  
  
With a metallic shriek, the sword was deflected, and Laesha was merely pushed off balance and sent to the marble floor with a crash. Cayn looked rather shocked for a moment before he turned on back on the last of the Tori.  
  
He seemed to have come to his senses somewhat, and was now clutching a rusty blade with both hands. Cayn smirked slightly at this and swiped at him experimentally. Owl made no move to block him.  
  
With a snarl, Laesha leapt to her feet, tail lashing and teeth bared. Cayn dodged her swinging claws and backed away from the two. She moved next to Owl, claws bared.  
  
"Oh, I see," chuckled Cayn, "You two have a thing for each other. How sweet." Before either of them could react he kicked Laesha halfway across the room and engaged Owl with a flurry of well-placed blows. His blade seemed to melt as he swung faster and faster and faster, while Owl's blocks became more frantic and erratic until Cayn's sword cut a long gash in his arm.  
  
Owl dropped his weapon with a gasp of pain, leaving himself open to Cayn's fatal blow.  
  
With a feral roar Laesha flew at Cayn and tackled him to the ground, spitting and snarling. He struggled and swore, trying to get his sword to pass through her scales to no avail.  
  
A dragon's Rage is a powerful force, more powerful than that of the wolf-people, and as a Panwere, Laesha changed in more than appearance. Nothing could calm her now.  
  
With her roar the Avengers woke from their stupor and circled the two, catcalling and baring their weapons.  
  
"Give him a dragon's vengeance, girl!"  
  
"Revenge!"  
  
"Kill him!"  
  
Owl pushed his way through the prisoners as best he could, looking pained and anxious, but not angry anymore.  
  
Cayn stopped struggling when he saw the Avengers brandish their worn blades at him, and looked back up at the girl holding him to the floor. She seemed the personification of demonic with her yellow eyes and slit pupils so narrow they were practically invisible. Saliva dripped from her sharp teeth, and her claws tightened around his neck. This creature above was more fearsome than any land dragon he had seen because it had been human once. He thought he recognized her now, the girl he found at the foot of a tree, the one who escaped. But the resemblance was fleeting. This monster was not human, it was not a god, and he couldn't fight it.  
  
As soon as he realized this, as soon as he let go of his fear and hate, she loosened her grip on his neck. Her double-lidded eyes blinked once and she got up off of him. The scales were already receding from her face.  
  
The Avengers ceased their clamor all of a sudden, and Cayn was paralyzed. She looked at the blood on her hands in shock and then to her victim. Her eyes were a green-hazel now, human, and the rage gone. She was still angry, but it was controlled.  
  
"You have many things to answer for, Cayn Eversra," she began sonorously, like the tolling of a great bell, "You have brought Dust to many people, many not ready for it. But that is not your crime. Your crime is not caring, nay, relishing in their deaths and bathing in their sacrifices. Dust does not crave souls to fill his domain, yet you kept giving them to him. And giving. And giving. Your crimes are many, but your punishment is simple.  
  
"We Forsake you; humanity Forsakes you, the beasts Forsake you, the waters and the earth Forsakes you, Gaea herself Forsakes you. You have Forsaken life, and life Forsakes you."  
  
She knelt down, slightly unsteady, and with a curved black claw, carved a hollow teardrop under his eye. Blood mixed with tears of fear. She stayed crouched over him.  
  
"Your scar is hollow, like your heart. Like her, your lieutenant, your comrade. She died for you. And until you realize the depth of her sacrifice and find life again, you will be as empty as the scar upon your cheek."  
  
She stood, but her voice had begun to quaver, "Now, I am going to give you until sunset before I let the Avengers loose. If they find you, you will die. But if they don't, as pathetic as your life will be, you will live to see another sunrise, and maybe salvation."  
  
And with that she crumpled and fell to the floor. All vestiges of the dragon were gone; she was now just a girl small for her sixteen years, with unruly black hair and a deceptively cute face.  
  
Now Owl stepped forward, face creased with pain, "Go, now," was all he said.  
  
Cayn rose, clutching his wounded face, and ran as fast from the Temple and Graemoon forest as his weary limbs could carry him.  
  
~*~  
  
Dusinane was still alive, though the life ebbed from her with every pulse of her weakening heart. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and her vision was becoming dim. She was alone in the chamber, the Avengers had departed after Cayn had gone, carrying the girl and helping the Tori. But Dusinane had been forgotten.  
  
This was not death. Death was when someone you trusted more than the gods themselves betrays you. When he looks upon you in disgust as you bleed to death at his feet. None of the wounds she bore on her body were half as painful as the look on Cayn's face. That was death, not this loss of blood, this slowing of the breath.  
  
The worst was over, she knew that, but why did she still feel as if her heart had been ripped from her chest? She wanted peace, that was all, but she knew she would never deserve it, not if she took a dagger for a thousand Cayns, because all of them would wear that smirk of triumph.  
  
A white feather landed softly on the ground before her face, and even as her vision grew darker this apparition brightened, until its light seemed to quench the very thirsts of her blooded soul.  
  
/ What do you desire? / murmured a gentle voice, full of compassion and free from judgment.  
  
"Forgiveness…peace," pleaded Dusinane hoarsely, her voice barely audible over the beat of her heart.  
  
/ Forgiveness for what? /  
  
"For the people I killed. My family, my enemies, strangers, all of them. All the blood I shed,"  
  
She felt a soft touch on her face, on the scar branded into her cheek, and with it, peace flooded into her, washing away the pain and freeing her from torment.  
  
/ I forgive you, Dusinane. /  
  
With a sigh, the wolf-woman was dead, a single tear – the first she had ever shed – frozen on her lifeless cheek. 


	16. Epilogue

Ashes by Stelmarta  
  
At long last, here is the epilogue. No, there's no extra chapter, I decided not to drag it out anymore. I really, really apologize for it taking so long, there was the end of year squeeze, exams, family visiting, writer's block, the summer lazies keeping me from doing anything productive writing-wise. And then when I had it all ready, on the night before I left for camp, ff.net was down. So, three weeks later, I'm back at my computer for the first time in a while. The next chapter is author's notes.  
  
This final installment is dedicated to Shoji Kawamori, the creator of Escaflowne and a genius in my opinion. Without him (or Escaflowne, rather), I would probably not have started writing.  
  
Also to my parents who have actually read my story and do a good job at pretending they like it.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
EPLIOGUE  
  
The rain cascaded down in sheets upon a large clearing in Graemoon forest. After three days much change had occurred and the temple that once stood there had been reduced to obsidian rubble. All that was left besides the ruins were long rows of black bricks marking patches of newly upturned soil. There were nearly seventy of them, and all but two had been prisoners of the Order: Rhys and the wolf woman. Laesha, once she had regained consciousness, had demanded that the Forsaken be honored for her sacrifice. She was rather unpopular for a while, but she managed to convince them in the end.  
  
Owl stood quietly by one of the headstones. It was the only white stone in the graveyard, fashioned from the pale marble of what had once been the Altar. On it was inscribed in careful script "Crowmariqel of the Tori".  
  
He had been standing there in the pouring rain for a while now and Laesha, standing unobtrusively in the woods a few meters away, was getting worried. To be sure, Owl had shown no signs of imbalance since the Eclipse and had, in fact, been unusually pleasant and congenial. But that didn't mean she was going to let down her guard. He looked tired and sorrowful, almost pathetically so. Soaking wet, his wounded arm bound up in a sling and standing by a gravestone, it took every mote of Laesha's stubborn soul to keep herself from turning into her mother and trying to cosset him.  
  
Owl let fall a single black feather on the ground by the marker. "It's all right, Laesha, I'm almost through here," he called without turning to her.  
  
"How did you find my hiding place?" she asked with a smile, coming up to his side. She offered him a spare rain cloak, but he waved it away.  
  
"You've never been good at sneaking through the woods," he replied with a faded grin.  
  
"Hey, I was out cold for two days. Try that sometime and see how sneaky you can be."  
  
"By the way, how're you feeling?" he asked.  
  
"Ugh," she moaned. "Who would've thought it was so exhausting to turn into a dragon? I mean, really."  
  
"You have no idea how strange that would sound out of context."  
  
"Yes I do. I make a point of only saying things that fit that criteria." She had been hoping for a laugh, or at least a smile, but he turned back to the grave in front of him. "Is there anything wrong, Owl?" she asked cautiously.  
  
"I'm alright, really."  
  
"Sure, whatever you say." Laesha replied blandly.  
  
"No need to be sarcastic, that's my job," he said with an edge of involuntary sarcasm, "You're supposed to say something utterly tactless but nevertheless refreshing like 'now you never have to worry about family reunions.'"  
  
"Are you really alright?" she cut in, "because you sound a lot like you're not."  
  
He didn't say anything for a while, instead just standing there in the rain looking pathetic. "No," he said quietly, "I'm not alright. But I will be. It's a lot to deal with you know, being orphaned twice."  
  
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And look on the bright side, now you never have to worry about family reunions," said Laesha.  
  
"Thanks for being hopelessly tactless," he said with a blurry smile.  
  
"Thanks for being insufferably angsty," she returned, then sighed. "You're making this goodbye very difficult, you know."  
  
"You're leaving?" he turned to her with some surprise.  
  
"Well, there's no reason to stay in a pile of rubble in the middle of a forest, is there?" she tried to hand him a rain cloak again; it had begun to thunder off in the distance.  
  
"I guess not," he sighed, "but that does bring up the perilous subject of what I'm going to do with myself."  
  
"Well, whatever you do, take care of yourself," she went on tiptoe, kissed him softly on the cheek and dropped her pendant into his hand. "We'll meet again."  
  
She walked off into the woods, leaving Owl clutching the necklace and a rain cloak and blushing furiously, "Goodbye, Dragon-girl!" he called to her after he had gathered his wits.  
  
"See ya', Birdbrain!" Laesha called back as she disappeared into the thick underbrush of Graemoon forest.  
  
THE END 


	17. Author's Notes

Author's Notes for Ashes  
  
Well, I've had a good time writing this, despite the occasional frustrations, writer's block, and the characters not doing what I wanted them to do, and I hope that it's been fun to read. Additionally, I hope you forgive me for constantly pushing back the chapter deadlines (as the late great Douglas Adams said, "I love deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they go by."), this story not really having anything to do with Escaflowne, and the grammatical errors I'm sure I've made. I have a few things I want to mention here, nothing terribly important so if you have something better to do, like watch TV, I wouldn't blame you.  
  
I'd like to begin with the disclaimer I consistently forgot to include: Though pretty much all the characters in this story are mine, Escaflowne still belongs to Bandai and Sunrise/Setsu Industries. I'm not making any money off of this, it is for my own enjoyment. Additionally, the names Din and Farore are property of whoever created The Legend of Zelda video game. I stole them. Also the names of Cayn, Dust and Brayan, and Alexander in his entirety belong to my friend Chet. I asked him first before I stole them but he deserves a mention anyway.  
  
Also, Tempest informed me of the word 'panwere' so it's not mine. I'm not clever enough for that sort of thing.  
  
The rest of the story is the product of my imagination. Resemblances to people living or dead is purely coincidental. Sorry, I've always wanted to say that.  
  
I'd like to give an extra special thanks to FireDemon, Tempest, IceEyes, normalisboring and a friend of mine (who will remain nameless) who left me about ten reviews under different names. Also a big tele-hug to everyone else who reviewed. You guys rock. ^_^  
  
Just in case you were wondering:  
  
*Cayn decides to wreak havoc on those who killed Dilandau: Allen Schezar, Van Fanel, the Girl from the Mystic Moon (though he has some trouble finding her), Millerna Aston, Merle, Dryden Fassa, Mole Man etc etc etc. He arrives first at the Schezar manor with the intent of stabbing Allen in his sleep but is caught by a young woman with an astounding resemblance to Dilandau. Celena has a nice long chat with him and sets him back on the straight and narrow. While he's not exactly happy, he does manage to find a comfortable place in society and live productively and in relative comfort to the end of his days.  
  
*Laesha wanders all over the place and finds out bits and pieces about her people, while finding no evidence that there are any left. Eventually she comes to enjoy traveling for its own sake and has a lot of fun hitchhiking all over Gaea and meeting interesting people. She and Owl run into each other again about ten years after the end of the story. He's joined the Traders Guild as a guard and is doing pretty well. They eventually get married.  
  
Now isn't that a happy ending? 


End file.
